


Human Hospitality

by scoutergreen



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alcohol, Alien/Human Relationships, Complicated Relationships, Culture Shock, Drug Use, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Infidelity, Long, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multiple Murders, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Space Flight, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 74
Words: 173,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutergreen/pseuds/scoutergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded on Earth after the events on Namek and with nowhere else to go, Vegeta accepts Bulma's invitation to live with the Briefs family and gets far more than he ever bargained for. Vegeta forces himself to be gracious on account of his royal blood and severely limited travel capabilities, but finds it difficult to maintain his composure. Set over several years, Vegeta struggles to cope with culture shock, isolation and socialization, psychological turmoil, confronting his past, his failures and triumphs as he trains, and with the increasingly complex feelings for the woman who took him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Rituals

Sunlight had filtered through spaces in the blinds and crept halfway across the bed when Vegeta woke with a start; so shocked to wake up in a human bed with the smell of a human breakfast drifting into his room that he bolted upright and took a few moments to regain a sense of where he was.

He was alive. He was safe.

"That's right," he sighed, sinking onto his elbows and glancing over the large room, "day two of my unwanted vacation. Well," he pushed himself up and got out of bed, "at least there's food downstairs."

Even Vegeta had to admit that the guest room he'd been given was more than generous: it featured hardwood floors, soft blue walls, large windows, a balcony, and a spacious en suite washroom. The bed, dresser, writing desk, and night table were all made from a dark, solid wood and to the Saiyan it appeared to be the sort of objects that might be considered heirlooms. Best of all, the bed was large and comfortable. He'd actually fallen asleep moments after collapsing into his bed, with a full stomach and pleasantly warm in soft garments humans wore as sleepwear. He had few clear memories of his first evening on Earth aside from a blonde woman offering him a great deal of food and an older man giving him clothing before showing him to his room.

As royalty, Vegeta felt it was his duty to be a gracious guest and that he could not threaten or harm his hosts, no matter how strong the desire. He wasn't on any sort of mission for Frieza any more, thank the gods, so there wasn't any need to threaten the Earthlings. Besides, he wasn't interested in fighting the humans or halfbreed again- he wanted to wait for Kakarot to return before challenging him to a rematch. In the meantime, his hosts had the facilities for him to train under the same conditions his rival had, and Vegeta planned to take advantage of that.

He pulled off the dark blue bottoms that the old man had referred to as "flannel" and draped it over the back the chair at his desk. The older man had given him a pair of something called "jeans" and said they were popular worldwide. As the Saiyan stood in the middle of his guest room, naked from the waist down, he inspected the strange split around the waist of the garment and frowned with intense confusion and disapproval as he tried to make sense of the tiny metal teeth that appeared to be sewn into the clothing. Cautiously, he pulled gently at the tiny slider and watched as the teeth closed together and stayed shut.

"Huh. So it's designed to tighten and fix over the waist… rather strange that they would use fabric that doesn't stretch. Why would humans sew metal teeth into clothing and place them right against the genitals? Maybe it's to warn other humans to stay away?"

He decided to drape the jeans over the chair and put the flannel pants back on before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

"Oh, Vegeta! Good morning, honey! You must be hungry, hmm? Come and sit down- would you like some coffee?" The blonde woman, whom Vegeta presumed to be the matriarch of the family, busied herself in the kitchen with several pans on an electric cooking range. Something in the air smelled very rich and fragrant and he wondered if it was this thing called "coffee" she was referring to.

This place keeps getting stranger by the minute…

He took a seat at the round breakfast table. "A small plate will suffice."

"Oh, honey, coffee is a beverage! You must have never had it before," she filled a mug with the beverage and approached Vegeta from behind, placed one slender hand on his shoulder and placed the mug in front of him.

The woman's touch made him tense and his hands curled into fists. I can't hurt her, he thought, but why is she touching me like this?

Mrs. Briefs felt her strange guest grow very tense and removed her hand. "Everything alright, sweetheart? Did you sleep well?" She moved back to the stove and started filling a plate for Vegeta.

"Don't touch me! Were you planning to attack me?"

Vegeta brushed his fingertips against the mug and was surprised at how warm the vessel was.

"Goodness, no," she returned with a full plate and she set a small carton of cream on the table, "nothing like that, dear. Some find coffee a bit bitter, so you might enjoy it with a little cream. Cream is the white liquid, by the way."

"Right," he gingerly added a small amount of cream and was fascinated at how it turned the hot coffee from near-black to rich brown, "I suppose this is a popular breakfast?" Vegeta picked up his mug, noticing the cream had cooled down the coffee, and he took a cautious sip.

The coffee was warm, smooth, and almost thick on his tongue. The mouth-feel of the beverage was unlike anything he'd experienced before; the fat from the cream softened the bitter edges of the drink and enhanced the natural sweetness that came after he'd swallowed his first sip.

"This coffee, I like it," he inhaled the scent once more before taking a larger sip and found it left him feeling a little more restored, "if this isn't a popular beverage, you Earthlings are missing out."

A light laugh drifted into the kitchen, followed by the blue-haired girl, clad in black leggings and an over-sized top that revealed one creamy white shoulder. "We Earthlings figured out the magic of coffee centuries ago! Give us some credit, pal! But coffee isn't meant to be a meal, Vegeta, it's just an accompaniment. Well… sometimes people only have coffee for breakfast, but it's not a good way to start the day, believe me. Coffee has a compound called caffeine, and a lot of humans rely on it to feel energetic when they first wake up."

"I see. So you have this every morning, I presume?"

"Sure do. Don't feel right without it," she sat across from him and smiled. "So, did you sleep well?"

Vegeta poked at the food on his plate with a bare finger. There was some sort of cooked meat, a pile of something that looked like light yellow brains, raw fruit, and two slices of something brown which he could not identify. "The blonde woman already asked me the same question. I slept through the night. Are humans concerned with how others sleep?"

"It's typical for good hosts to show concern for how their guests sleep," the girl called Bulma replied, "especially since you're in for some culture shock. Oh, the yellow stuff is called scrambled eggs. You've also got sausage and toast there, and a little fruit," she pointed at each respective item, "all of these are popular breakfast foods."

Vegeta scooped up some of the scrambled egg with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. The texture alone was almost enough to make him vomit and he spit it back onto his plate. "Eugh! Repulsive stuff! What kind of eggs do you people eat?"

"That's disgusting, Vegeta! It's alright if you don't like something, but you're supposed to spit it into a napkin!" Bulma passed a wad of paper napkins to her disgusted guest.

"Oh," Vegeta took a single napkin and wiped his mouth, "well, never serve that dish again!"

He picked up a sausage and bit into it. He was pleasantly surprised by how savoury it was, and decided that sausage, fruit and coffee made for a fine breakfast. He'd get the blonde woman to prepare more of them in the future. "This, however, is very good. More of this, always."

Bulma was about to chastise Vegeta for not using utensils when Dr. Briefs shuffled into the kitchen, puffing on his first cigarette of the day. "Ah, you're up, son! Did you sleep well?"

The prince let out a long, exasperated sigh. "That's the third time a human has enquired about my sleeping habits! Is once not enough?"

"Just being a good host, my boy," Dr. Briefs tapped the end of his cigarette over an empty ashtray in the middle of the table, "I see you're drinking coffee. Is it to your liking?"

Vegeta started to feel that his hosts were going to seriously test his patience.


	2. Basic Conceps

After breakfast, Dr. Briefs offered to show Vegeta around the living areas of the Capsule Corp's compound. Not certain on how he would begin to spend all his free time, Vegeta shrugged and wordlessly followed the man through the bright and modern (at least by human standards) home.

"The bedrooms and guest rooms are upstairs, as you already know," Dr. Briefs stopped to light another cigarette, "and you took the main stairwell to the kitchen."

"Get on with it," Vegeta turned his head to avoid the acrid smoke.

The scientist showed him a spacious living room filled with comfortable furniture, books, art and photographs. The living quarters also had a home office, a small personal library, two workshops, lab facilities, a well-stocked gym, and a massive conservatory filled with thousands of plants.

"You are wealthy." Vegeta reached out to feel the smooth, deep green leaves of a small palm tree and searched through his memory for a comparable plant.

Dr. Briefs noticed that Vegeta wasn't asking if Dr. Briefs was wealthy but rather confirming what he already knew. The older man could help but wonder what riches his strange guest had encountered in his past travels.

"You could say so, yes. Are you interested in seeing the grounds?"

"Show to me the gravity simulator."

"As you can see, this model is in need of repairs. I could have it up and running within the week, if you'd like," Dr. Briefs pointed to various components on the large circuit-board of the gravity simulator's main controllers, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to talk about one of his latest inventions to a particularly interested guest.

The Saiyan couldn't keep up with what his host was talking about, but he listened out of politeness and to figure out just how Kakarot had used the device to train for his battle with Frieza. So far, the only things he knew for certain were that Kakarot had used a gravity simulator to train while travelling to Namek, and that Kakarot had ascended to Super Saiyan after using that simulator.

"A week? Hmph," Vegeta sniffed, "that's too much time spent not training. Tell me, what settings did Kakarot use on the gravity simulator you built for him?"

The young man is determined, thought Dr. Briefs, but is he even aware of the risks involved?

"I can't say for certain, son, but the model I built for Goku went up to one hundred times Earth's gravity. If you use the simulator, it's pertinent that you use extreme caution! Setting the simulator too high could literally crush you!"

"What does "pertinent" mean?"

"It means that something is very important or highly relevant," explained the scientist, "I cannot stress enough that you need to be very careful when you use the simulator. Do you understand?"

"Do I look like an idiot?"

"Hardly," Dr. Briefs shut the control panel, "but until the gravity simulator is repaired, you are more than welcome to use the fitness facilities here. If you like running outside, there's a track you can take around the property too. I'll get started on it today."

"Fine."

The prince turned away from his host and started to leave for the living quarters when Dr. Briefs cleared his throat and asked: "By the way, son, were you planning to wear pyjamas all day long?"

Never did Dr. Briefs imagine he'd be explaining how clothing worked to his guest. After some resistance, Vegeta agreed to let Dr. Briefs show him some basic articles of clothing from his own closet and explained their purpose and how to put them on. The Saiyan took an immediate dislike to stiff, heavier fabrics and, when he asked about "the teeth" in the jeans, he felt embarrassed and furious at his own ignorance when told it was just something called a "zipper" and that many articles of clothing featured them.

After searching through his closet, Dr. Briefs found a few items for Vegeta to wear. The Saiyan seemed to prefer light, breathable fabrics, preferably free of any buttons or zippers, which meant he found himself giving away too-small athletic wear he'd never worn more than twice, clean socks, old sweatshirts and sweatpants, T-shirts and plain white undershirts. He packed everything into a to large paper sack with cardboard handles. "They're nothing formal, but these are fine for training and being around the house. When you're more settled, Bulma or I could help you find new clothes. If you'll be here for a while, it makes sense to have a whole new wardrobe!"

"Enough!" Barked Vegeta, before he lowered his voice to a normal pitch and volume, "yes, thank you, these will be suitable for my training. I'd like to get started now. Good bye."

He quickly turned away and left for his own bedroom very quickly.

"Guess he's eager to burn off that breakfast…" said Dr. Briefs with a shrug.

Although Vegeta found his old boots, he was rather troubled by the fact that he could not locate his old clothing or armour. After searching through all the drawers only to find them empty, he decided he could leave the issue until later. Training was more important than his old clothes. He changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top with some sort of neon pink design across the chest and slipped on his boots, tucking the pants into the wide shaft of the boot. He inspected himself in the mirror and shook his head in disapproval.

"Earth fashion looks really stupid."

He made his way down to the fitness facilities and started to inspect the equipment, humming with approval at the free weights and what he was certain passed for human weight machines when the realization that he wasn't able to read the script on any of the equipment dawned on him. Worse yet, the machines that were designed to simulate running on different inclines and speeds had to be programmed in order to run!

After a few moments deliberation, Vegeta decided he'd try finding the blue-haired girl. He tried the living room and the kitchen before going upstairs and trying each bedroom until he located hers. The girl's bedroom, as he discovered, was across the hall from his own. Vegeta opened the door and walked in, finding her sitting at her desk with a towel wrapped across her torso and her hair dripping water that rolled down the backs of her creamy shoulders.

He was stunned by the sight of her. She was gorgeous.

She realized that he was standing there and yelped in surprise, defensively crossing her arms across her chest. "You need to knock first if the door's closed!"

"You need to fix the running machines, now!"

"What?! Vegeta, they all work perfectly. You just need to select the program you want and put in a few numbers when prompted."

"Well, I don't understand the script."

Bulma rose from her chair and gave a slow nod to indicate she understood what he wanted. "You need to leave my room while I get dressed, and then I can help you, okay? Then we can set up a custom program just for you!"

He turned and left her room without a word, shutting the door behind him.

Turning back to her desk, Bulma pulled out her notepad and jotted down a single thought: "looks like Vegeta needs to be taught a few basic concepts…"


	3. Appetite and Measurement

After the blue-haired girl had helped Vegeta set up a custom programs on a machine she called an "elliptical" and another machine called a "treadmill", he rotated between the two machines and figured out how to use most of the weight equipment. A fair amount of it he found useful. He made mental notes throughout his workout and told himself to set up a new routine within the next day or two. He'd have to ask the blue haired girl for more assistance if he wanted to use some of the more complicated equipment.

Three hours later and Vegeta's hunger returned for the first time in what seemed like many days. He vaguely recalled eating some creature on Namek, and his light eating on Earth. Breakfast had been satisfying (aside from the eggs) but it wasn't enough to keep a Saiyan sated for very long.

His human hosts were about to discover just how much a Saiyan could really eat.

The first place Vegeta checked for food was the refrigerator. His eyes widened and a crooked smile just touched the left side of his face as he scanned its contents and pulled out everything that looked appealing: fresh fruit, a creamy white block of something he could smell through its clear packaging, some kind of still-warm roasted bird in a clear-top container, bottles of juices and metallic tins he couldn't read, a circular item that looked to be covered in a brown, fluffy substance, and a container filled with green and purple leaves.

Next, he looked through the cupboards. Some held plates and glasses, he learned, and others held shelf-stable food. Vegeta couldn't understand the colourful packaging, but he picked out buttery crackers, a package of cream sandwich cookies, nacho cheese flavoured corn chips, a jar of salsa, a jar of hazelnut spread, peanut butter, half a loaf of whole wheat bread, and two easy-open tins of tuna fish.

The humans did use eating utensils, he recalled, and pulled open all the drawers until he located one filled with silver objects. He immediately identified the serrated knife and found a large spoon, but he didn't know what to make of the utensil with four pointed prongs at the top. So, Vegeta took a steak knife and stainless steel serving spoon to the table and dug into his meal.

An hour later, Bulma came down the stairs and gasped when she saw Vegeta sitting cross-legged on the table, scooping up the last bits of salsa from the jar. He'd already consumed an entire roast chicken, two quarts of milk, a pint each of orange and apple juice, a box of crackers, package of cookies, more than two thirds of the chocolate cake Mrs. Briefs had just purchased earlier that day, all the grapes, four bananas, three oranges, several apples, a tin of tuna, two tins of diet soda, and almost half a container of salad greens.

"Don't spoil your dinner, pal!" Bulma joked as she opened the refrigerator and found he really had ransacked it. He'd even taken an 800 gram block of white cheddar cheese!

"This red stuff..."

"It's called salsa, and the crunchy orange triangles are called chips."

"More from now on. Stock your kitchen with it. I like it."

"Good combination, isn't it? You must have been feeling adventurous to try so much food on your own!"

"I was hungry, you prying girl. You humans were smart enough to provide food and I procured it when necessary."

She laughed and pushed her hair back from her face. "Whatever. Do you at least want to know what you ate? It was pretty good, huh? Otherwise you wouldn't have eaten so much of it!"

After a few moments of consideration, and debating if he even wanted to know what he was really eating, Vegeta reluctantly agreed. She explained what each item was. Vegeta decided he liked chicken, cheese, salsa, chips, and fruit the most. He didn't like the way peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth, or the way cookie crumbs stuck to his back teeth.

"This is called cake," she picked up the remaining cake and brought it to the counter, "and I'll show you what to drink it with. Did you like it?"

He nodded and stuck a chip deep into the jar of hazelnut spread, pulled it out and popped it in his mouth. After chewing only once or twice, his face went blank and jaw movements seemed robotic until he swallowed it. "That however, was awful. What is this brown substance?"

"Hazelnut spread. It's better paired with fruit or on bread and is usually eaten for breakfast or as part of dessert. Care for more coffee?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to sit down in a chair like you did this morning?"

"No."

"Okay, then," Bulma scooped ground coffee into the percolator's basket, "just sit where you're comfortable. I will have to get rid of the food you're done with, alright?"

"Do what you must, girl."

"You know," she collected the scraps and trash and threw it all into a small trash bag, "I am an adult woman, and my name is Bulma! It's acceptable for you to call me by my name and don't worry about any special titles!"

Vegeta coolly glanced over her body twice over and shrugged, indifferent to her words. "I would not mistake you for royalty. Even pathetic human royalty would possess much more grace."

Bulma scoffed and rolled her eyes, but when the opportunity to make a quick retort expired in silence she could feel her frustration building. She wanted to launch his insult back in his face, but the fear that he'd become violent held her back. His speech, she was starting to realize, managed to be formal but clunky, with an odd accent that darkened his vowels and sent some phonemes to the back of his throat. Vegeta demonstrated a sharp wit when he wasn't giving terse, monosyllabic responses. The percolator finished brewing coffee, so she focused her attention on pouring two mugs of coffee and cutting the remaining cake into two pieces so she could enjoy at least some of it.

She brought two mugs of coffee with cream to the table, followed by two slices of cake. Bulma took a seat across from Vegeta, who hadn't moved from his cross-legged position in the center of the table.

He took a sip of coffee and hummed in appreciation.

"Try a forkful of cake. It'll taste amazing now."

"How do you use a forkful?"

Oh my god, he doesn't even know what a fork is. What fucked up society did this guy come from? Did he just pronounce "forkful" as "for-ka-ful"?

"Oh, don't mind it, Vegeta. You can use that spoon if you're more comfortable with that. We'll go over utensils a bit later. Just drink your coffee while it's still hot."

When he'd all but finished his slice of cake, Vegeta finally nodded in approval and looked Bulma up and down again. "You were right. The coffee and thing you call cake do taste good together. What is the cake?"

"Cake is a sweet, obviously, food that is baked and served for dessert or on very special occasions. What you're tasting in that cake is called chocolate. The cake has other ingredients too, obviously, but it's chocolate-flavoured."

"Then I should like to try this chocolate independent of the cake."

"Wow, Vegeta, you've got quite the adventurous palate! We don't have any chocolate in the house at the moment, but I could get some good chocolate for you to try after dinner. And, if you don't mind me asking, just what the hell are you wearing? That outfit is, uh, creative."

The Saiyan felt a hot surge of anger shoot through his veins. How dare she condescend him! He took a long sip of coffee, swallowed, and glared at her. "What is wrong with it, then? I can not be faulted for your stupid and bulky clothing."

"Bulky?! That's not even heavy human clothing, Vegeta. You must have a preference for light materials that show off your great body, hmm?"

He cringed. "It is not about exhibiting my body for entertainment, you vulgar woman, it is about being able to move... but if my attempt to adopt Earth fashion is so wrong, do enlighten me on how to improve myself in your eyes!"

Doesn't take much to stoke this guy's anger, huh?

"First of all," Bulma drained her mug of coffee, "don't tuck your pants into those white boots. It's not unacceptable but it does look tacky. Secondly, you're not supposed to wear white shoes at this time of year."

"I haven't any other footwear and wasn't aware that humans considered colours to be seasonal. Unless you should like to procure footwear for me, this critique is without merit."

Bulma shrugged. "Fair enough, Vegeta. Would you let me measure your feet so I could find the right size shoe for you? I'll be going out for your chocolate anyway. Now that I think about it, you could use some of your own clothing. It's pretty obvious you're wearing my Dad's stuff! Don't worry, I'll find you stuff that'll keep you warm, let you move, and is fashionable!"

The Saiyan pulled off his right boot and held his foot in front of Bulma. "Measure!"

After the food and having his feet measured, along with his inseam, waist, chest, and across the breadth of his shoulders, Vegeta returned to the home gym to perform a movement routine he'd learned in his twenties. He didn't like being measured by Bulma, but she promised to pick up clothing he'd like wearing. He felt more alert with a full stomach, and his new environment suddenly became much more real to him.

Twenty five minutes into his preset forty minute high-resistance run on the treadmill, he jumped off the machine and held his hand over his heart. It was pounding not from exertion but from mounting anxiety. He felt his skin go clammy and stomach clench painfully.

Vegeta didn't know what to call these "attacks", but he knew the only way he could cope was to force himself to maintain steady breath and to stay still and quiet. He could only hope that the humans wouldn't see him in his state. After many painful minutes, his heart finally slowed to a normal pace and stomach unclenched. His hands trembled. He felt sweat running down the back of his neck and knew he had to get clean before it dried and the smell of his own fear clung to him, lest the humans smell it during the evening meal.


	4. Recollection

Bunny leafed through a magazine, reclined on a chaise-lounge in the living room. She hadn't seen her guest in several hours, but she had noticed he'd raided her refrigerator and cupboard.

She didn't know what to make of him, but sensed he desperately needed a place to rest and recover from some unspoken ordeal. Something was haunting the strange man but he seemed determined to keep pushing forward- what he was aiming to achieve or acquire, Bunny did not know, but she knew there had to be more to him.

Besides, she thought, it was nice to have such a fit young man around the house...

At three thirty in the afternoon, Bulma returned home with more groceries and two large canvas bags stuffed with brand new athletic gear and shoes.

"Vegeta must have been hungry if he ate an entire chicken! I guess the grocery list is going to become a lot longer for the next while," Bunny followed Bulma into the kitchen and started to unpack the groceries.

"I don't even want to think about how much this is gonna cost..." muttered Bulma, sitting at the kitchen table and cutting price tags off of garments, "at least the Namekians don't eat! And unlike the so-called prince in our house, they haven't been demanding or imposing, either! How can you just brush off this guy's attitude and appetite, Mom?"

"Maybe he's a little overwhelmed, honey. You need to remember he's not from around here and might find our way of life a little strange. He seemed so dazed when I first saw him... must have been through an awful lot! After all, he showed up here covered in dirt and with that torn clothing! Oh, speaking of that, I washed that outfit he showed up in; would you return it to him when you bring those new clothes up?"

"Sure, Mom. So, if Vegeta ate all the chicken and your cake, then what are we going to do for dinner?"

"Do you think he'll even want dinner, Bulma?"

"If Vegeta's anything like Goku, he'll want five dinners!"

"Oh, dear..."

Vegeta had figured out how to draw a hot bath in his en suite washroom and decided the smooth white bar wrapped in waxed paper had to be soap. He was impressed by how quickly the bathtub filled and by the warmth of the water. The soap smelled good but left his skin feeling dry, and he wondered if humans had extremely oily skin or if they deliberately stripped their skin of its natural oil and replaced it with something else. Vegeta decided he'd ask the woman called Bunny for a salve or skin oil next time he saw her.

The Saiyan disliked washing his hair and paid little mind to the pastel green bottles and blue circular container that had been set on his sink. He let himself slide into the water and rubbed his scalp until he couldn't stand it any longer. When he came back up, he saw the bathwater was tinged grey and quickly pushed himself out of the tub.

After patting himself dry with a towel, Vegeta stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. He inspected his hairline and wondered if it would recede any further; checked his teeth, finding he really had chipped two incisors and lower left cuspid during his time on Namek. Finally, he ran his fingers over the spots where Frieza's fatal blast had penetrated and exited his body, still in disbelief over the lack of scars or lingering injury after his unexpected resurrection.

Was I really dead? I left my body, that much is certain. And yet despite knowing my body stopped working, I've yet to make sense of where my spirit went... or didn't go...

There had been no Hell nor Heaven when Vegeta died. There hadn't been an otherworldly "check-in station" or a guiding light that drew him to a creator or overseer, not even a spectre or spirit to inform the Saiyan he had perished and it was time to leave the mortal realm; there had been nothing. He had felt himself being plunged into an icy darkness as wide as an ocean and a million fathoms deep, and Vegeta could do nothing but hang there, suspended in this nowhere realm that seemed to absorb all light and sound, and his spirit recognized very quickly that this would be its eternal prison. With no mouth, he could not scream with fury or in fright, and with no body he could not run or fight his way out of this empty space. There was no way out, nobody to have mercy or even argue with, and nothing for him to grab on to or to find comfort in.

Hours into this new eternity, Vegeta found himself facing Kakkarot in this blackness and urged his rival to destroy Frieza, all past conflicts with Kakkarot be damned, he begged his nemesis to complete the task he'd failed to see through to the end, one Saiyan spirit to another Saiyan spirit. Those seconds with Kakkarot had been a fleeting, beautiful moment of mercy before he was once again alone in the darkness.

When he suddenly woke up again, back in his own body, the weight of soil crushing his chest and forcing him to claw frantically upwards, he actually hoped he'd finally arrived in Hell- anything to get away from the no-space he'd been trapped in before.

When he realized he was on Namek, by then going to hell in a hand-basket, a deep sense of gratitude and even joy grew inside his chest like a bubble and simply couldn't pop. Moments later, after confronting Frieza one more time, he found himself transported to a sunny, grassy field miles outside a major city. Vegeta recognized he was back on Earth and couldn't help but laugh at the wonderful absurdity of his situation.

Bulma knocked on Vegeta's door, and when she didn't hear anything from his room, she went inside and started sorting his new clothing into different drawers, unaware he'd slipped out of the washroom and stood mere feet away from her, completely naked and still damp from his bath. It took a minute before Bulma caught his figure in her peripheral vision and jumped back. "Jesus! That's the second time you've startled me today!"

"What are you doing in here?" He suspiciously eyed her canvas bags.

"I'm putting your new clothes away, Vegeta. Were you in the washroom this whole time? Speaking of which, you may want to consider getting dressed..."

"After I get skin salve. Get it for me now. The old man explained how these garments work, I don't need you to put things away for me."

"Salve?! Did scrape yourself?"

The Saiyan rolled his eyes and approached the chest of drawers with his clothing, looking through the items she'd brought him. "Salve, balm, skin oil! Something for dried out skin, girl, am I making myself clear enough yet?"

He decided the clothing Bulma had purchased were substantially better than what he'd been wearing before as he pulled out a soft blue t-shirt and black sweatpants with a drawstring waist. He spotted the brand new athletic shoes and sandals she'd also purchased for him and decided to try the human version of open-toed footwear.

She scoffed and turned on her heel, exiting his room quickly. He noticed how her hips swung and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. It was nice having an attractive woman around, and even better that she didn't seem at all reserved or prudish.

Bulma stood in the doorway to Vegeta's room and tossed a large white bottle at him. "Here, pal, try this. It's called lotion. You just rub it into your skin until it's absorbed, alright? It's my bottle, but you can have it, alright?"

"Hmm," he unscrewed the cap and sniffed cautiously, unsure of how to feel about its somewhat sweet fragrance, "then perhaps someday my complexion will look as lovely as yours." He cocked a brow and the left side of his mouth curled into a crooked smile.

"Whatever, Vegeta. Dinner will be in a few hours. I blew one of my stereo speakers before I went to Namek, so today I'm finally going to repair it. If you need something, I'll be in the lab. Oh, and by the way, it's not acceptable to talk to people when you're nude. Just a heads up!" She flashed a grin and left his room again.

Dumbfounded by her statement, he followed her into the hallway and shot back: "You came into my room first! What was I supposed to do, throw you out?"

Bulma ignored him and went downstairs. He stood there, hair still dripping down his bare back, and shook his head in disbelief at her rudeness. Humans were a strange bunch.


	5. Settling In

By the time seven o'clock rolled around, Bunny and Bulma had decided it would be best just to order something for dinner, not knowing how much their guest would eat and if he'd even enjoy the meal. Aware that Vegeta's Saiyan appetite seemed to be returning (and very quickly at that) they chose to order a few different types of cuisine from around the world: Italian, Lebanese, and Mexican.

Vegeta had opted to take a nap after his encounter with Bulma, and when he awoke in the evening his nose wrinkled at the lingering scent of that lotion the blue-haired girl had given him. It wasn't a foul smell, or even terribly offensive, but Vegeta knew his sense of smell was much more sensitive than that of the humans he was living with, and he suspected that humans loved to smell sweet.

And then, he smelled dinner. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but something downstairs smelled very good and his stomach was growling.

Bunny seemed thrilled to see him again and rattled off a short list of beverages she had available. When Vegeta realized she was offering him beer, his curiosity was piqued. "If humans have beer, then I should like to try human beer."

"You drink?" Bulma sat in the chair across from Vegeta's, genuinely surprised at her guest's choice of beverage.

"Beer and wine were staple beverages in Saiyan society," Vegeta gave Bunny a nod when she placed an icy brown bottle at his place, "and true Saiyans are very fond of their drink."

"That sounds promising..."

He twisted the cap off, sniffed, took a cautious sip, and swished the liquid in his mouth before swallowing. Human beer tasted like a lighter, slightly sweeter version of Saiyan beer. "I like this... hmm. Furthermore, I have decided human cuisine is quite good, based on what I have tried in a single day."

"We decided to order-in, seeing as you ate more in one sitting than sometimes I do in three days..." Bulma imitated the smirk Vegeta had flashed at her earlier that day.

"Bulma, that's not very nice! Vegeta's a guest and he's more than welcome to eat whatever he likes and as much as he likes. Besides, your friend Goku has quite the appetite, too! Here, honey," Mrs. Briefs set small plates in front of each place at the table and took a seat to Vegeta's left, "you're going to need somebody to explain the different types of food available tonight."

"Yeah, you're getting a little tour of the world through food, Vegeta. Aren't you lucky we're going to indulge you?" Bulma took two pita and a container of hummus and dug in.

Does she mean these people seriously don't have some type of standard cuisine? What kind of planet am I trapped on?!

He chose to try pita bread and took a small container of toum, figuring it had to be a safe choice.

It's official: humans are pathetic, weak creatures...

He dipped his bread in the white sauce, took a cautious bite, and his eyes widened with surprise as he chewed. The bread was soft and warm and the sauce was cool and creamy and wonderfully pungent and it all tasted of something that reminded him of thing he'd eaten as a very young boy.

...who are capable of making some really delicious food.

By ten thirty, Vegeta lay in bed with the covers drawn to his collarbone, eyelids growing heavier by the minute. He was full of good food and riding a pleasant buzz from the beer. He could still smell the lotion and decided he didn't like how the scent lingered. He'd literally gone years without a proper bath or shower at times, instead relying on steam baths just before his pod landed or rinsing off in streams or under rainfall once a planet's water was deemed safe and unpolluted. Living and working with two older Saiyans also meant Vegeta had become very used to smelling and looking unpleasant and really not caring what anybody thought. It was jarring to suddenly have the opportunity to bathe whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted, and then actually take the time to look over his appearance and take care of his skin...

It was overwhelming.

The food had been excellent, and Bunny a remarkably patient guide. If she noticed his brusqueness, she did a fine job of ignoring it and treating him as a member of her own family. Vegeta decided he liked Mexican and Lebanese food the most- and it seemed acceptable to eat these particular foods with his hands. He didn't like something called "spaghetti" because he couldn't figure out how exactly to handle the utensils Bulma insisted he use, and when he gave up and tried to eat it with his hands she started screaming at him, saying it was "disgusting" and rudely asking if he'd been raised in something called a "barn".

He wanted to ask her if she was something called a "bitch" but managed to hold his tongue.

I will not be mocked by a human for how I am most comfortable eating, he thought resentfully, she has no right to speak to me like that!

He rolled over in his soft bed and shut his eyes. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep.

The next three days passed by with very little incident. The Briefs and Vegeta ate almost all their meals together, although Bulma had started taking a thermos of coffee and container of yogurt to the lab and disappearing for hours at a stretch most mornings. Vegeta discovered unscented lotion courtesy of Dr. Briefs when he worked up the nerve to ask him privately about how frequently he was expected to bathe. Although he was quite happy to take a bath or shower every day, he still refrained from using something called "shampoo" on his hair after discovering it was the oddest shade of bright, opalescent green and absolutely reeked of a cloying perfume.

Late in the evening on the third full day, Bulma found a wide tooth comb Vegeta could use to pick through his hair after he'd barged into her room and started complaining loudly and continuously. The lack of proper Saiyan grooming tools, with special attention paid to his mane of hair, preferably by a trusted partner, was something he started to sorely miss now that he had free time to focus on his appearance. He remembered when Raditz took time to pick through his hair whenever they had downtime and was even nostalgic for a few minutes before feelings of resentment seeped in to his consciousness.

They were trying their best to accommodate him and Vegeta knew that. Still, he couldn't shake his frustration and the gnawing feeling he wasn't training hard enough. By mid-afternoon on his fourth full day on Earth, he'd used the gym twice and had run laps around the spacious grounds of the Capsule Corporation for close to an hour.

The Namekians, who had taken up residence in small guest houses surrounded by flower beds and shady trees, warily eyed the Saiyan as he passed by on his run. Vegeta briefly made eye contact with one small Namekian wearing white and red robes before focusing his attention back to the running track.

He didn't like how the Namekian had looked at him; the young alien's expression wasn't one of contempt or fear, but instead an expression of pity.

You wouldn't have survived two days in my childhood, thought Vegeta, a cold spike of anger running up his spine.

He went back to the house and straight up to his bedroom and changed into fresh clothing before heading downstairs to the lab. It hadn't been a week but Vegeta didn't care- why couldn't the old man just get the damn gravity generator up and running?

When he entered the lab, the smell of freshly welded metal hit his nose and made him involuntarily furrow his brow. The gravity simulator was an impressive piece of technology, even Vegeta could admit; its smooth white and black exterior and small port-hole windows were unlike anything he'd seen in his travels.

The more he got to know the humans who had taken him in, the more humans as a species confused him. Vegeta could begrudgingly admit humans weren't entirely stupid, considering their capacity for intergalactic travel (if only on a minute scale) and their advanced methods of communication, but they certainly were weird. They really seemed to aim for consistency in their daily lives and didn't appear the least bit interested in exerting energy over long periods of time. He had no idea how any of them could sit on the couch for hours at a stretch, reading magazines, working, or watching television, but he'd seen all three of them doing it!

"Hey, Vegeta! Talk about serendipity, I was going to go looking for you in a few minutes!" Bulma cut the fuel supply to her welding torch, set it down in its holster, and pulled back her thick protective mask to reveal flushed cheeks and a wide grin. Her hair was scraped back into a small ponytail and she wore a baseball hat with the brim to the back.

The Saiyan was quite intrigued by how she looked at that moment.

"Come on up! I thought you might be interested in seeing the progress on the gravity machine!"

He jumped up to her elevated platform and did not take care to land gently.

"Watch it! This isn't athletic equipment, you know!" She clung to the railing as the platform rocked from side to side.

"You said to come up, so I came up! Stop with your silly complaints at once and show me what you're doing now, I am growing tired of waiting for a functioning gravity machine to materialize."

Bulma rolled her eyes and adjusted her cap. "It hasn't even been five days, Vegeta! I have a life too, you know! Look, the time spent just simulating the effects of this machine has nearly set us back by a full day or two. There's a lot of adjustments to be made, and we're also reinforcing the frame, walls and windows so the structure can withstand even more pressure than the simulator Goku trained in. I know you how much you want to train, but there's no way this is going to be up by tomorrow if that's what you came to ask me. You're more than welcome to check out the machine with me, if you'd like."

"I... uh, I," Vegeta stammered, "yes, I suppose if you're creating a superior machine for a superior Saiyan, it would take more time," that crooked smile appeared, "so I should like to see what you've done so far."

Nice save there buddy, thought Bulma, knowing she'd shut him down before he could start acting unreasonable just to get his way.

"I'm reinforcing the exterior walls and windows today. Yesterday we reinforced the interior walls and the floor; we added a special kind of rubber tile to absorb some of the shock if you're going to be jumping around in there. Come on, I'll show you the inside." She brought the platform down to ground level and hopped off. Arms folded across his chest, Vegeta followed her into the machine.

At the centre of the machine's round interior was a huge cylindrical structure that went from the floor to the ceiling. Portable halogen lamps flooded the gravity simulator with uncomfortably bright light. At waist level was a console and control panel, still disconnected from a central power supply.

"This will be your main training area. There's a lower level too, equipped with a low-flow shower and toilet, and a small area to eat and rest. Just so you know, the washroom on here won't work unless you turn off the gravity simulator. This is the second machine my Dad and I have worked on and we're trying to make it as fail-safe as possible."

"I see," Vegeta ran his fingers of the controls and frowned at his reflection in the dark computer screen, "what script will the computer run? Surely you'll have the displays in Galactic Standard."

"What the hell is Galactic Standard? Is that the weird script that was displayed on the scouter Raditz wore?"

"If you want to call it that," Vegeta sneered, "it's designed to be easily read and spoken by a vast number of species. I speak Saiyan, Galactic Standard, and whatever language you're speaking. How many species communicate using your written script?"

Bulma's eyed widened when she realized that she had never really questioned just how Vegeta could communicate with her. Truth be told, it was a bit horrifying to know he'd landed on Earth already knowing the language. Sure, his speech was a bit awkward, but he spoke English fluently and had since he'd landed on Earth, and so had Raditz, and that was no coincidence.

"A few billion people speak this language. It's called English. There's a lot of different languages on Earth. So, uh, how do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Microchip." His face momentarily hardened as though blocking some terrible memory from coming to the surface.

She knew he wasn't going to provide a more detailed explanation and let it be.

"Sorry, Vegeta, but I don't know Galactic Standard. In fact, I never heard of it until you brought it up. Would you be willing to spend some time learning the controls if I programmed the computer to display simple commands?"

"I have little else to do."

"Then it's agreed. I can probably get the computer up in two days and spend some time with you then. At this point, it's just a big, empty ship."

"Hmm. You'd better not waste any more time and get back to working on my big, empty ship, then. Good-bye."

He moved swiftly to the machine's entrance steps and swung his legs over the railing jumped out of sight.

"See you at dinner, too, Vegeta... jeez. What a weird guy..." by the time Bulma had left the machine, Vegeta was long gone. She had no idea where he'd gone.

Probably back to the gym, if he isn't searching for food...

Bulma raised her platform, lowered her welder's mask, and turned her torch back on. She had no idea how long it would really take to complete the machine and hoped Vegeta's patience would hold out for another few days.


	6. Outburst

Two days later, Bulma had successfully programmed the computers in the gravity machine and wanted to show Vegeta. It was one in the afternoon and Bulma thought the house seemed too quiet, even with her father at Capsule Corporation headquarters for a meeting and her mother on an outing. Vegeta wasn't in the gym and he hadn't wandered over to the lab like she'd thought he would.

He wasn't in the kitchen nor had he gone up to his bedroom. Bulma checked her bedroom, her parents' bedroom, the patio and the gardens, but there was no sign of Vegeta anywhere.

Finally she found Vegeta in the living room, curled up under a navy blue shawl and dozing in a reclining chair that was currently centred in a wide beam of warm sunlight. It was the first time she noticed an auburn undertone to his dark hair and for once he appeared relaxed.

He's rather handsome when he isn't scowling... he almost looks innocent like that...

"Yes?" Muttered Vegeta, voice soft and eyes still shut.

"Hi there, I didn't mean to disturb you. Just thought you'd want to know that I have the computer system up and running for the gravity machine, and can lead you through a tutorial whenever you'd like."

The Saiyan slowly sat up and stretched his arms above his head. "Mm. Good," he yawned, "but I'm hungry. Make me something now. Then you shall teach me."

"What, don't know how to make your own lunch, bud? If you're gonna be here for at least a few months, you'd better learn how to fend for yourself in the kitchen! Do you think I'm some sort of servant at your beck and call? Get real!"

The Saiyan's face hardened into that cold mask and he rose out of the chair, movements fluid and swift. He found himself looking at her slender neck and collarbone and something deep inside wanted to gently touch her and find out what her skin felt like.

Bulma felt her heart pounding in her chest as Vegeta stared at her. He definitely stopped looking innocent.

"I am an elite warrior and I am royalty, and you are to recognize and respect my status. You should not want to see what I will do if you continue to speak to me with such disrespect. You will feed me now!"

"Ugh! Fine, Vegeta," she backed out of the living room and darted into the kitchen. Vegeta followed her and took his usual spot at the breakfast table.

She wound up ordering two pizzas.

"Lazy..." muttered Vegeta. His stomach growled. He folded his arms over his chest, shut his eyes, and proceeded to wait.

After his fourth slice of cheese, pepperoni, mushroom and green pepper pizza, Vegeta found his mood settling and he genuinely wanted to learn how to use the program Bulma had created for him. Pizza turned out to be very good; it featured cheese and it was acceptable to eat it with his hands. He didn't know why she kept poking away at some sort of tablet as she ate absentmindedly, but he was confused and insulted by how little attention she paid to both her food and her guest. Both actions were considered a serious insult in Saiyan culture.

"So," Vegeta began through a mouthful of pizza crust, "when are we going to the gravity simulator? Why do you insist on ignoring me?"

"I'm not ignoring you," sighed Bulma, taking another tiny bite from her second slice of pizza, "I'm trying to set up this tutorial for you on the tablet. You can't go in the simulator right now beca-"

The Saiyan's content mood suddenly turned into deep annoyance bordering on anger. "Why the hell not?! You said it'd be done by now! Has it not been a week?"

"You can't go in because the interior was just sprayed with a flame retardant and those are fumes you do not want to inhale, understand? There's no electrical power in there, anyway! It'll take a full day for the coating to dry. Just calm down and be patient!"

The Saiyan slammed a fist down on the table in frustration and a clear vase of flowers shuddered closer to the edge of the circular table. "I've been perfectly patient, damn it! You said one week!"

"One week was an estimation!" Bulma yelled, "I had to put so much time into just reprogramming the computer so you'd understand how to use it! I've spent hours reinforcing the structure of the machine, re-doing the lighting and electrical system, adding safety features, making certain you'd have a place to recover and shower in there, and all I get in return is a royal temper tantrum? Are you serious?! The least you can do is say "thank you" to me for putting my life on hold for you! Believe me, Vegeta, everybody here is more than aware that you're out of your element right now, but you cannot get nasty just because of some minor delays. You already have a fully equipped gym and outdoor track you can use to your heart's content! Calm the hell down and learn to control yourself!"

Vegeta stood up and picked up the vase, inspected its contents, and hurled it at the refrigerator. The thick glass exploded into a thousand tiny shards on impact which rained down on the tile floor. There were now-bruised flowers, glass shards, and water everywhere.

Bulma's mouth hung open in shock and felt her body shake with fear. Vegeta simply loomed over her and stared, no emotions registering across his face.

"I am controlling myself. If I am delayed much longer, the next thing I break won't be a vessel for plants. Do I make myself clear?"

Before she could answer, he turned on his heel and headed outside.

Bulma made certain to lock down the lab after Vegeta's episode and engage the alarm system. She had no choice but to clean up the mess after Vegeta left the kitchen and was furious at herself for just sitting there and taking his abuse.

She thought about possible ways to defend herself against the Saiyan if he turned violent but knew there would be no chance of survival if he wanted to kill her. He could kill her with a single strike. At most, all she could do was hide, but he was capable of sensing her energy and was also a particularly effective stalker.

How could she deal with him? Who else had spent an extended period of time with Vegeta? The Saiyan's two comrades were dead, one for more than a year by that point, and even if they were alive she doubted they would be of any help.

As she dumped the last tiny shards of glass down the trash chute, Bulma recalled that Gohan had spent some time with Vegeta on Namek and had likely witnessed him at his most desperate and irrational. If anybody would be able to provide her with good advice on how to interact with the Saiyan, it was Goku's young son.

At four in the afternoon, after she had felt calm for at least an hour and had spotted Vegeta in the garden using a thick tree branch as a pull-up bar, she took the cordless phone from its stand and went upstairs to her bedroom to call Gohan. She turned on the shower in her en suite bathroom just in case Vegeta came upstairs- she did not want to risk him overhearing the conversation.

"Hey, Chi-Chi? It's Bulma. We're doing alright here... mostly... some guests are better behaved than others...yeah... oh, Chi-Chi, we all do! ... ... these months will fly by if we stay positive... yes... no... of course you can! Say, Chi-Chi? Could I speak to Gohan, please? I promise it won't be for very long..."

Gohan's voice came down the line: "Hi, Bulma! How's life in the big city with the Namekians and Vegeta all under the same roof?"

"The Namekians are lovely and gracious, but I did want to talk to you, Gohan... because Vegeta flipped out earlier today. Man, he's quick to anger, isn't he? Do you know of any way to calm him down or at least avoid him?"

Gohan's tone turned angry and he repeatedly asked Bulma if her guest had physically harmed her. It was hard to believe the child was just six years old.

"No... he just couldn't handle that the gravity simulator isn't ready yet. He broke my Mother's vase."

"He what?!"

"Yep. Threw it against the refrigerator. He wanted a reaction more than anything, I think. Oh, and before that, he was upset that I wasn't going to spend time making him some huge meal just because he asked for it. It's like he can't handle more than one disappointment in a row or something!"

"Vegeta really doesn't handle stress well. He was pretty irritable on Namek too... he seems to run on reserves half the time, really."

Bulma's eyes widened and she remembered the wicker basket on top of the refrigerator: it was where the family kept multivitamins and over the counter medicines, and she was more than certain that they had some sleep aids at her disposal.

"Gohan, you just gave me a great idea! If Vegeta's sleeping, he won't be hassling me! I'll call you back in a few hours, okay? It's time for Mister Temperamental to go down for a long nap."

"Just be careful, Bulma... he does not like being deceived."

Bulma took a teaspoon of the coffee she'd prepared for Vegeta and swirled it in her mouth before spitting it in the sink. She couldn't taste the melatonin she'd put in his decaffeinated coffee. If that didn't work, surely the ground sleeping pills in the tuna salad sandwiches she'd prepared would knock him out.

When Vegeta came back from exercising outdoors about ten minutes later, he poked his head in the kitchen and saw Bulma at the table, flipping through some sort of technical manual while drinking coffee and eating a sandwich. He cleared his throat and strode in, looking for any sign his outburst at lunchtime. The kitchen was clean and the blue-haired girl seemed normal.

"Hey," Bulma didn't look up from her book, "there's a couple sandwiches for you in the fridge and that coffee's for you," she pointed to the still-hot beverage on the counter, "I figured you'd be coming in for something to eat, so I made something in advance."

"Aha! You're wise to have taken my warning seriously. So what is this?" The Saiyan started peeling plastic wrap off his sandwich and inspected the contents.

"Tuna fish sandwich. You'll like it. Geniuses and warriors alike swear by it on this planet."

"Hmph." He ate quickly, finding the sandwich tasted pretty good (sometimes a bit gritty, but that was probably just some small bones) and drank his coffee in three gulps. Bulma set down her manual, stretched, and looked over Vegeta. He sat across from her as usual, expression neutral, leaning back slightly in his seat.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, just the technical manual for the first generation gravity simulator. I'm just ensuring nothing's been forgotten so there's no more delays."

That crooked smile appeared on the left side of his face. "It is very good you listened to me earlier. I expect that the gravity simulator will be completed within the next four days..." he trailed off into a yawn.

If he's really already feeling sleepy, his metabolism is more like a huge boiler room than a single furnace...

Ten minutes passed in relative silence. Bulma read her book, waiting to see if the sleeping pills would affect Vegeta. Finally after another fifteen minutes, Vegeta yawned again, rubbed his eyes, and glanced over at Bulma suspiciously.

Why am I so tired all of a sudden? This is strange...

"What's up?" Bulma set her book down and looked at her guest with an expression of concern tinging her face.

Vegeta slowly stood up and shook his head. "Ugh, I feel very sleepy... like my limbs are heavy. This is not right... how are you feeling?"

"I feel fine, Vegeta. You look kind of pale," Bulma lied, "maybe you should lay down for a few minutes."

The Saiyan looked back down at Bulma and shrugged. "Maybe you're right. I'm going to sleep in my room, and you shall not disturb me unless it is to inform me that you've miraculously got the gravity simulator up and running today. Understood?"

"Of course, Vegeta. Is there anything else? Cup of tea? A nightcap maybe?" Bulma imitated Vegeta's crooked, wry smile.

"Don't..." he yawned, "don't mock me."

He went upstairs and Bulma heard his door shut softly.

"Pleasant dreams, Vegeta..." Bulma finally returned to the percolator and poured herself a second cup of caffeinated coffee.


	7. Tensions

Nearly seven hours passed before Vegeta woke up, and he staggered down the stairs with his eyes barely open and parched tongue darting between dry lips. He felt awful, like his skull had been stuffed full of cotton balls. He went into the living room and found Bulma on the couch, legs crossed with a large bowl of hot popcorn nestled in the space in between. She was down to her socks, underwear and a baggy t-shirt, gaze fixed on the action movie on the television.

He sat down near her and rubbed his eyes for many seconds before turning his attention to the film. In the middle of a particularly violent hand-to-hand combat sequence, Vegeta's expression soured and he glanced over at Bulma and said: "is this a comedy or some sort of satire? This guy's form is terrible. His clothing looks restrictive and he can't move properly. He's slow and unbalanced... I'd kill him in seconds!"

Bulma looked at her guest, who had changed into a black tank and black sweatpants, and chuckled at his brutal critique, half horrified and half amused by his dry delivery. "It's an action movie, Vegeta! That guy is just an actor, not a real warrior! It's all in good fun, not meant to be taken seriously. This film is called Killing Time 2. You're welcome to watch it with me if you'd like."

"Pffft," Vegeta exhaled through pressed lips, "you humans are easily impressed."

The young engineer shrugged. "Maybe... but Yamcha really wanted to see this movie before... before..." she stopped to away the tears welling in her bright eyes, "and I miss him so much..."

Vegeta ignored Bulma's silent crying. Humans seemed to be rather emotional creatures, he thought, and they're not very good at regulating their emotions or at least weeping in private.

Once Bulma seemed to have calmed down, he started looking at her again for any sign of intoxication or tiredness. Something had been really off about how he'd suddenly become so tired right after eating and drinking and he would get to the bottom of it.

"Have you been up all day, or did you take a nap at some point as well?" Vegeta narrowed his large, almond-shaped eyes and spotted her glass of cola on the glass coffee table. He leaned forward and took it but did not drink.

"Hey, that's mine! I'll get you one if you want, just... wait, what? No, I didn't take a nap! I was reviewing manuals for the gravity machine, remember? You must be way overtired, buddy!"

"It is quite possible my body just wants to recover from repeated assaults on Namek and as a result I'm sleeping more than usual, however," Vegeta brought the fizzing drink to his lips and did not stop drinking until the glass was drained, "it is just so unusual I woke up feeling disoriented and with a dry mouth... very similar to when I've woken up after being sedated for a medical procedure... or after being slipped drugs, for that matter."

Oh gods... he knows, thought Bulma, and now he's going to kill me!

"But since I can't be certain, I'm going to assume my body is just taking some time to recover. For now, at least."

He gently set the empty glass on the table and stood up, gave Bulma a mocking bow and headed out of the living room. He stopped in the doorway and made one final point: "perhaps I'll request a urinalysis test from your father or have him refer me to the appropriate physician. Good night!"

Bulma woke early, pushed her hair under a baseball cap, grabbed a banana from the wire fruit basket on the kitchen counter and headed down to the lab to work on the gravity simulator. Vegeta's suspicious attitude the night before had left her feeling anxious and determined to stay out of the Saiyan's sight as best she could.

She was happy to see that the lab had clearly been left alone and disengaged the alarms. With the protective coatings to the structure dried, she could re-install the electrical equipment and hook up the appliances.

And if Vegeta is in a decent mood, she thought, maybe I could run him through the tutorial...

"Good news, son: there are no traces of sedating drugs in the urine sample you gave me. I'm thinking you're just a bit overtired from all your training, and it's best to listen to your body in this case." Dr. Briefs flipped through the results of the drug test Vegeta had demanded he provide.

Vegeta let out a tiny puff of air in relief. The blue-haired girl hadn't drugged him. Maybe he really was just tired or had suffered an allergic reaction. His visit to a human physician hadn't been something he'd ever planned or wanted to do, but after much persuasion and reassurance that doctor-patient relations were strictly confidential and the promise that the Capsule Corporation's private physician would be capable of examining a Saiyan patient, Vegeta reluctantly agreed to a physical examination on the condition that the doctor did not take extensive notes, and that any notes be given directly to Vegeta afterwards.

He didn't know that Dr. Briefs had agreed to give the physician a significant bonus to examine an alien patient and not contact the press.

"Just a basic physical, understand? Any tissue samples or probing and I'm gone and so are you," he muttered as a young, wide-eyed physician with long red hair pulled into a ponytail gently pressed her latex glove-covered fingers into his jawline to check for swollen lymph nodes.

Vegeta swore he could smell fear in the physician's sweat; further confirmation in his mind that humans were uncontrollably emotional creatures.

It was discovered that Vegeta stood at five feet, three and a half inches, weighed one hundred and thirty two pounds, had a body temperature of 103.5 degrees Fahrenheit (Vegeta argued this was completely normal for Saiyans to the horrified doctor), a blood pressure reading of 125/85, a resting heartbeat of 75 BPM, had clear lungs, bright eyes and superb vision, excellent reflexes, good muscle tone and good posture. The doctor wanted to ask Vegeta about the scars covering his limbs and torso but she thought better of it.

Vegeta had strongly objected to Dr. Briefs taking a blood sample, only relenting when the scientist assured his guest the sample would only be used to further confirm the overall state of the Saiyan's health and to potentially create an artificial blood for the alien should he ever need a transfusion.

"Hmmph, that is good to know. Tell me, do you think your daughter will be able to have the gravity simulator up and running within the next few days, or has she just been lying to me this whole time?"

Dr. Briefs sighed and patted Vegeta on the shoulder, who recoiled and barely suppressed a scowl. "Son, the best thing you can do is let her work in peace. Bulma wouldn't tell you she was almost finished if she really wasn't."

"Hmmph. I'm bored with your fitness facilities."

This guy needs constant stimulation, thought Dr. Briefs, and apparently craves novelty, too.

"Do you want a tour of the city? I could take you for a ride in the car."

Vegeta shrugged. "Fine. But I suppose these clothes won't be appropriate..." looking down at his running shoes and drawstring shorts.

Now outfitted with human undergarments, which turned out to be rather comfortable all things considered, Vegeta was willing to wear the blue denim jeans Bulma had purchased for him without his knowledge.

He'd been surprised when she'd knocked on his door one evening and presented him with a large red paper bag filled with two pair of denim jeans in blue and in black, along with a few casual t-shirts and even slightly more formal button-up shirt. It had been the last thing he expected from his hosts after they'd already provided him with basic clothing for training, and while he only tersely thanked Bulma for the clothing before telling her to leave so he could sleep, part of him was moved by the generosity of the humans that had taken him in.

With his dresser drawers filling up, Vegeta felt himself actually enjoying the opportunity to dress for pleasure, and he decided that blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and his sandals would pass for a casual outfit. As he left his bedroom, Bulma was coming up the stairs and hummed with approval at Vegeta's outfit.

"Look at you! You know, you're actually kind of sexy, Vegeta, especially now that you've put on a little weight since you got here. I love a man who can fill out a t-shirt like that!"

"Tch! Mind your tongue, you vulgar girl! And where have you been all morning?" Vegeta could feel his face getting red, embarrassed by Bulma's comments.

"Just working on your damn simulator, your highness! I'm gonna go shower before I grab some lunch. So, where are you off to, dressed like that?"

"Your father offered to take me on a guided tour of the city. I need a change of scenery now, anyway."

"Don't be surprised if he offers to take you somewhere to eat. There's a lot of great restaurants in West City to choose from! Who knows, you might even get some phone numbers when you go out!"

"I do not understand what you mean by 'some phone numbers'. Explain now."

"What I mean is that you might attract some female attention! Geez, Vegeta, haven't you ever been on a date or anything? Yeesh. You need to have some fun for a change!"

With that, Bulma started to saunter towards her bedroom door when Vegeta told her to stop for a moment, and without turning to face her, he said: "by the way, the drug screen came back negative, and I should think that is a good thing for the both of us, you silly, vulgar girl. Furthermore, my sex life is none of your concern. Good bye."

To Be Continued


	8. It Finally Works!

The open-top car sped down the coastal highway with Vegeta in the passenger seat, who was secretly enjoying the smell of ocean air and the way the wind whipped through his hair. Dr. Briefs talked constantly but never seemed to notice if Vegeta was really listening to him. He explained the purpose of certain buildings and the history behind different neighbourhoods in West City.

From what Vegeta could gather based on his observations and when he (reluctantly) listened to his guide, West City was a large and wealthy city and had been founded at least two centuries prior. Capsule Corporation also seemed to be one of the largest industries operating within the city, although it appeared as though many different companies had their headquarters or major factories in West City. There were glittering glass skyscrapers, massive shopping malls, apartment complexes, well-maintained public parks, schools, a university, train stations and even a major airport on the very outskirts of the city.

Finally, Dr. Briefs took an exit that brought them into West City's core and into a street filled with different restaurants.

"Oh no," Vegeta warily eyed his driver, "take me elsewhere or take me home, now."

"Alright... say, have you ever had a hamburger, Vegeta?"

"No."

They wound up going through something called a "drive-through" for cheeseburgers, French fries, onion rings, baked apple pies, and very large soft drinks served in waxed paper cups with the ugliest neon red and purple geometric design Vegeta had ever laid eyes on.

"My wife doesn't like it when I eat this kind of stuff, so we'll have to find a place to eat..."

"Fine."

"You're not much of a talker, are you?"

The Saiyan sighed and resumed looking out the window.

Dr. Briefs took his guest to a rest area overlooking the ocean. The Saiyan found he was actually glad to be seaside again, ignored Dr. Briefs as he pointed to a picnic table, and chose to sit at the top of the sloping hill leading down to a small public beach instead. Dr. Briefs joined him without asking. He ate quickly and said nothing to Dr. Briefs, who told Vegeta about his doctoral thesis in between small bites of his hamburger.

"You said your wife didn't like you eating this food. Why?"

Train of thought derailed by Vegeta's sudden questioning, Dr. Briefs choked on his root beer and coughed before he was able to provide an answer. "Just trying to watch the waistline, son, now that my metabolism isn't so fast any more!"

"So... this type of food makes you fat?" Vegeta asked through a mouthful of onion rings.

"If you eat too much, it can..."

The Saiyan shrugged, muttered something about "not liking fat humans very much", and returned his attention to his onion rings. After a few minutes, he crushed the empty, grease-stained paper bag they'd come in and incinerated it with a minute blast of ki. He stood up in the grass, rolled his shoulders back, and inhaled with his lips parted so he could taste the salty sea air. He made a mental note to make Bulma take him to the beach on a very hot day.

"Take me home, now."

"Care to take the scenic route?"

Another shrug from the Saiyan. He didn't really care- it was just something to do.

Vegeta was horrified to discover Bulma had invited a group of girlfriends to the compound when he and Dr. Briefs returned in the late afternoon. She said they were friends from her university days and they'd come over to catch up and engage in an activity she called "pre-drinking".

"What the hell is pre-drinking?" Vegeta went into the kitchen to get a snack and found Bulma and her girlfriends were seated around the breakfast table with several brightly coloured drinks and snacks on hand.

"It's when you get buzzed before going out so you don't spend too much money at the bars!" A tall, curvaceous brunette leaned back in her seat at the kitchen table and smiled at Vegeta.

"Hmm! I can't criticize frugality."

"You wanna come with, cutie?"

"No."

Several of the women giggled at his curt reply. "Oh, come on! Don't be so serious, mystery man! Are you Bulma's new boyfriend?" Another woman asked him, winking at the suggestion that he was romantically involved with Bulma.

"No!"

More giggling. Vegeta could feel his blood pressure steadily rising and he tried to focus his attention on the refrigerator. He just wanted to get a snack, something to drink, and then he wanted to disappear.

"His name is Vegeta and he's been working with my Dad on a project. One of the new engineers at Capsule Corporation, you know?" Bulma lied.

A chorus of "ooohs" rose from the table. Vegeta was impressed by Bulma's ability to create a back story for him on the spot.

"So you're too busy to come out with us, huh? Don't get too caught up in your work, good lookin'!"

The Saiyan's teeth were practically on edge. He found an unopened package of cold cuts and a large can of iced tea and took them both up to his room.

He deigned to stay up there until they left. With a slice of roast turkey rolled up and held between his teeth, Vegeta picked up the remote control to the television in his room and soon figured out that the red button at the top of the remote was the ON button.

Sometime in the later evening, Vegeta heard the women laughing and giggling again. Based on their volume, he guessed correctly that they were in Bulma's bedroom across the hallway and knew to leave.

He crept down to the living room in an attempt to escape the noise. He was becoming quite fascinated by human television and wanted to continue watching a program where a blonde man dressed in white screamed at a group of harried-looking cooks competing to make the best dish for some sort of monetary prize.

Not ten minutes after finding the cooking show again, the group of women came down the stairs, louder than before. They were definitely buzzed, he thought. Vegeta was preparing to fire off his best insults at them when he caught sight of Bulma, now dressed up to go out for the evening, and his mouth just hung open.

"How do I look?" She asked him.

She was dressed in a formfitting sleeveless red dress that showed off her figure and knee high boots with four inch heels. Gold and silver bangles jingled on her slender wrists and large rhinestone hoops sparkled in the warm light of the living room. She'd painted her nails and lips red and her cheekbones suddenly appeared more defined.

His heart was pounding and it took all his strength to keep his thoughts from turning to sex.

"Uhh... I, uh... you look fine."

"We're all going out now and I won't be home until late, but I'll have something great to show you tomorrow afternoon, alright?" She leaned over the couch and he caught a glimpse of her ample cleavage.

The scent of her perfume reached him. She smelled sweet and spicy, and then an underlying musk revealed itself and suddenly his face felt very hot.

"Good. Now get out of here!"

He spent much of the evening watching television with Mrs. Briefs after she offered to prepare him something called "club sandwiches" and returned with a literal stack of sandwiches (which he enjoyed very much) and a ramekin of potato salad. They watched a program called "The Twilight Zone", which Vegeta found quite fascinating, followed by the late night news, which Vegeta found incredibly dull.

At one in the morning, he retired to his bedroom. By two thirty in the morning he lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Insomnia was most unusual for the Saiyan, who typically fell asleep within a few minutes most nights after years of willing himself to sleep while stuck on Frieza's ships or during shore leave. Worse yet, he didn't know of any human remedies for insomnia.

The only two remedies Vegeta knew of were alcohol and sex. He didn't know where the humans kept their liquor (if they even had any, he'd only ever had human beer) and he didn't have a willing sexual partner.

He stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

With the duvet pushed down to the foot-board and the sheet already down at his hips, the Saiyan pulled off his shirt and lay back down, tossing over on his mattress in hopes he'd find a comfortable position. After a few minutes, he was on his back like usual.

It wasn't the temperature of the room that was bothering him, he realized. He felt quite normal and couldn't sense any danger or unusual energies nearby. His stomach was full and he hadn't been drinking. In his mind, there was no reason he should still be awake.

His mind turned to Bulma. He started thinking about how she looked in that short, tight dress and high heeled boots. The way she smelled; that spicy, musky perfume that came from that spot between her full breasts. Her creamy skin and bright blue eyes. Those bare shoulders he'd seen at the beginning of his time on earth.

She said I was sexy, he thought, but was she just toying with me?

Maybe she's promiscuous...

His right hand drifted down under the sheet and towards the waistband of his boxers.

Don't you ever date? She'd asked him.

It had been more than three years since he'd last had sex and his body was screaming for release. His last sexual encounter had been brief, rather uncomfortable, in less than ideal conditions, with a partner for whom he had no feelings of affection, and done purely to satisfy a physical need rather than for enjoyment. He already had an erection and knew he couldn't ignore it like he'd done so many times before.

He started to imagine what she looked like undressed. He'd wanted to tear that dress right off her.

He pushed the sheet and his boxers down to his ankles and finally touched himself for the first time in years. Ten minutes later, with soiled boxers discarded on the floor and the sheets and duvet pulled up to his chest, Vegeta fell asleep and did not wake up until eleven o'clock.

Vegeta woke with a start when a small animal with pointed ears and glossy black fur jumped on his bed, mere inches from his face, and began sniffing him curiously. A cold, wet nose practically buried itself into his hairline. Its eyes were wide and bright green, practically glowing as they stared at Vegeta. Long whiskers brushed against the Saiyan's cheek as the creature leaned in closer to sniff his face again. He was totally taken aback by the animal's apparent friendliness.

"And just what the hell are you?"

The creature yawned, revealing tiny sharp teeth and powerful incisors. Vegeta smiled and held out a hand. A rough pink tongue darted out of a tiny mouth and licked his fingertips.

"I bet you're a carnivore."

"MmmmrrrrooooooOOOWwww..."

The Saiyan's eyes widened at the animal's high pitched call. Still, he recognized the creature was likely some sort of pet and therefore tame. He let it hop around on his bed and was quite amused when it attacked his wiggling feet and tried to bite his toes through the covers.

He noticed his bedroom door had been opened slightly, but a quick check around his room confirmed nothing had been touched while he'd been asleep. He decided to shower and finally made his way downstairs just as Bulma was preparing to make herself lunch. She was dressed in black sweatpants and a pink tank top, with her hair loose and face free of any cosmetics.

Even dressed like that, she's gorgeous, thought Vegeta.

"Hey there! I've never seen you sleep in before," Bulma gave her guest a nod as he came wandering into the kitchen, smelling like he'd just showered.

"Mmmrrooowwww..."

"This creature keeps following me." Vegeta looked down at the cat as it wound in between his legs and butted its furry head against his calves.

"That's Scratch and he's a house cat. He usually hangs around with my Dad. C'mere," Bulma bent down to pick the cat up, "did you finally say hello to our guest, Scratch? Hmm? You wanna hold him, Vegeta? I think he likes you!"

"I'm hungry."

"I'll take that as a firm no, then. You want some lunch?" She set Scratch down and he darted out of the kitchen, probably headed towards the lab or to find some sunny spot to sleep in.

He took a seat at the breakfast table. "The sandwiches your mother made last night were very good... whatever they were."

"Club sandwiches it is, then..."

Bulma put together several sandwiches and brewed some coffee for her and Vegeta. They ate in silence until Vegeta had eaten two sandwiches and the rumbling in his stomach had been silenced.

"Are your friends still here?"

"Nope. Two of them crashed here when we got in at three, but they both left early this morning when you were still sleeping. Now that my hangover's finally going away..."

Vegeta let his crooked smile spread across his face. "They were loud women. It's no wonder you have a headache."

"We were even louder once we hit the clubs and my hangover is from drinking way too much champagne and hard liquor! It was probably the tequila shots that did me in!"

Vegeta exhaled sharply through his nose.

"My friends think you're cute, Vegeta. You should let loose and come with us sometime."

The Saiyan did not reply but instead focused on his coffee. Memories of her perfume, the jingling bangles, and that dress came rushing back. An entire night of her dressed like that would have driven him wild.

Finally: "I think not. So, what did you have to tell me today?"

"Oh yeah! Well, Vegeta, your gravity simulator is mere hours away from being ready for use! All we have to do is go through a tutorial, ensure the simulator works properly with some quick tests, and then we're going to move it outside so you can train in complete privacy."

He swallowed a large mouthful of club sandwich, brows raised, and looked at her quite skeptically. "It finally works?"

"It finally works!"

"Finally!"


	9. The Daily Routine

So excited at the prospect of finally using a working gravity simulator, Vegeta quietly sat through Bulma's tutorial and found she'd programmed the machine's controls in an easy-to-identify, colourful display. While Vegeta's ego felt wounded by the idea that Bulma possibly considered him to be some kind of idiot, the thrill of being able to train like his rival suppressed any anger that may have otherwise risen to the surface minutes into the tutorial.

He was even willing to take her advice and started his training at five times Earth's gravity. After an hour of rigorous exercise, his muscles were burning from exertion, and it felt _good._

Within four days, Vegeta was training at 15-25 times Earth's normal gravity on a consistent basis.

Vegeta had what he considered a proper schedule set in place by the beginning of his third full week on Earth. He discovered the early morning hours were blissfully quiet and chose to take advantage of any opportunity when he wouldn't have to talk to people.

He wrote down his daily schedule in Galactic Standard and tacked it to the wall above his barely-used desk.

**0515- Wake, dress**

**0525- Get breakfast from refrigerator**

**0545- Run 45 minutes**

**0635- Gym: Weight training**

**0745- Get second breakfast**

**0820- Gravity Simulator: 10-15x setting, stretching and movement routine**

**0900- Gravity Simulator: 20-30x setting, hand weights and body weight exercises**

**0940- Leave Simulator, get something to eat**

**1000- Return to Simulator. 20-40x setting, combat exercises and kata**

**1130- Leave Simulator, go to house (Note to self do NOT use shower in simulator it is inefficient and not warm enough Note to self Tell Bulma or her father to fix the damn water heater in simulator)**

**1135- Shower**

**1200- Midday meal**

**1300- Movement and stretching routine- normal gravity setting if in simulator**

**1400- Sleep**

**1600- Wake, eat something.**

**1615- Return to gravity simulator: 10-20x setting, flight and levitation training**

**1730- Leave simulator. Bathe.**

**1800- Evening meal**

**1900- Free hour.**

**2000- Watch TV or go for walk**

**2130- Eat something. Go to room.**

**2230- Sleep**

The gravity simulator had been intentionally placed as far away from the Namekians as possible so to prevent conflict. Vegeta liked it that way and he was more than certain the Namekians didn't object either. Occasionally he passed by some of them as they toured the gardens with Mrs. Briefs or in small groups on their own, and it always created a moment of deep tension. While Vegeta's chip couldn't decipher what the Namekians said about him in their native tongue, he knew it just had to along the lines of "sick bastard", "murderer", and "should be in Hell".

"Keep away from him, young one," an elder Namekian said to one of the youngest as they passed Vegeta as he jogged around the compound one evening, deliberately speaking in the common tongue to make sure Vegeta understood the warning too, "there is nothing good to be found in him."

It stung him more than it should have, and if it weren't for Mrs. Briefs being no more than eight meters away, he may have attacked.

By the end of the month, the Saiyan's food intake increased to the point that Mrs. Briefs hired two chefs (who worked alternate days) to keep up. Vegeta regularly terrified the chefs by coming into the kitchen just as they were putting the finishing touches on a dish and taking a seat at (or sometimes _on_ ) the table. He rarely, if ever, thanked the cooks, figuring they were paid labour and therefore their salaries counted as a sufficient "thank you". The grocery bill skyrocketed, not that Vegeta particularly cared. He'd grown especially fond of salmon teriyaki served with sticky rice, hummus with pita, Pad Thai with shrimp and chicken, tortilla chips with salsa, fruit salad, pomegranate arils, roast chicken with gravy and vegetables, steak and pommes frites, Caesar salad, oranges, and Mrs. Briefs' club sandwiches, which he requested she prepare for him at least twice weekly.

While Vegeta had learned how to use human utensils (they really weren't all that different from anything he'd seen before) he still tended to eat certain things using his right hand, partially because it felt natural but also because it bothered Bulma, and he found her indignant reactions made for good dinnertime entertainment, especially when he was in one of his _off_ moods.

He still wasn't fond of scrambled eggs, although he found them quite good when fried in butter and served with steak sauce. The discovery that eggs were present in many foods he consumed on a regular basis made Vegeta less suspicious of them and more willing to try different things. All things considered, Vegeta thought the food on Earth was excellent, but he only told the Briefs that the food was "satisfactory" most of the time. The only foods Vegeta found truly loathsome were marshmallows, zucchini, tomato ketchup, and oatmeal, which somewhat reminded him of the gruel served to PTO soldiers stationed in the most inhospitable areas of the empire.

One morning, the Saiyan discovered that only Bulma was at the house that day, and the cook had a day off, so he'd need her to cook for him. He wandered from the gym into the kitchen and found her at the breakfast table, focused on her tablet as usual.

"Hey," she looked up from her tablet as he entered the kitchen, "have you put on some weight?"

"Maybe," Vegeta discovered the percolator had switched to its keep warm setting and poured himself a cup of coffee, "it's possible."

"You look great, Vegeta."

He felt his face getting hot again. Something was baking in the oven, and he motioned towards it with his large eyes and tilted his chin up, silently asking his hostess what she was making. Vegeta was frustrated that many of his non-verbal cues or tongue clicks were ignored or only received a confused response from the humans, forcing him to speak all the time.

"Fritatta. You'll like it. Care to get me a cup of coffee too, handsome?"

He got a mug from the cupboard and poured her a cup of coffee. Vegeta also knew she took cream and a small amount of sugar and took the liberty of adding it in for her before he set both mugs on the table and took his usual spot across from her.

"Wow, I didn't actually think you'd actually do that! Thanks, Vegeta."

"Yeah, yeah," he focused on his coffee and took a long sip, "enough."

She laughed and went back to reading her tablet until the oven timer beeped and she removed the frittata from the oven, sprinkled grated cheese on top, and returned it to the oven to continue cooking for another few minutes.

"Damn it all, I'm hungry! How long is that fritta-thing going to take, Bulma?"

"Another three minutes... besides, didn't you eat just two hours ago? I'm starting to think you can pack away even more than Goku!"

Vegeta smirked at Bulma's comparison and leaned back in his chair, studying her expressive face and briefly wondering if he should start committing her features to his memory before he scolded himself for daring to be so soft, if even for a few seconds.

The oven beeped and he did not move. He would be served, after all.

After sniffing the dish presented to him and an initial taste test, the Saiyan finished his slice of frittata in three huge, greedy bites, pushed his plate away, rose from his chair and brought the entire pan over (once he realized he needed to wrap the hot handle with a tea towel in order to hold it) and quickly ate the remainder. "Tell the cooks I want this for my second breakfast every day. Whatever you put in this, it is quite good. I must train. Goodbye."

"So the prince of all Saiyans wants leftover dinner, cheese and eggs... at least he'll eat close to anything," said Bulma to an empty kitchen.

* * *

After ten weeks on Earth, with seven of them spent training in the gravity simulator for several hours on a near-daily basis, Vegeta actually felt remarkably comfortable in his environment. He slept well and ate constantly, enjoyed his privacy, took long showers and groomed himself regularly.

Late one evening, Bulma came to his room to deliver laundry. The Saiyan was cross-legged on the floor, back against the side of his bed, cleaning his toenails with a wooden cuticle pusher.

"I swear, if you aren't training or stuffing your face, you're devoted to your hygiene. Are you trying to impress a lady friend I don't know about or something?" Bulma laughed and set his clean clothing on top of his dresser, knowing her guest preferred to sort his own laundry.

"I like to look good."

Bulma chuckled. "I can see that, Vegeta. Anyway, that's all. I'll see you in the mor-"

"You can stay. A little company wouldn't be so awful right now," he didn't look up from his feet, but his tone was sincere.

She smiled at his offer. "Sure. I was going to make some nighttime tea, so do you want a cup too? It'll only take me a few minutes. Think of it as time to finish up with your feet, because I'm not going to try and have a conversation with a guy giving himself a pedicure!"

He let out a low, soft laugh and agreed to her conditions.

When she came back with two steaming mugs of tea, placed them on his night table, and took a seat on top of his bed, Vegeta sat right beside her. Bulma hadn't been expecting _that_ at all but managed to keep her composure.

Close-up, Bulma realized that Vegeta really was _quite_ attractive, and his unusual features added a deep element of mystery to an already enigmatic individual. He really did devote time to keeping himself clean and it showed in his complexion. On top of that, he also smelled nice; a combination of soap and lotion, clean clothing, and very faintly of the rubbing alcohol swabs he used to wipe his nails after picking away any dirt that had found its way underneath.

The Saiyan didn't talk much about himself or his past, and when he did, it came in anecdotes or fragments of a larger story he would always refuse to tell. That evening, he was a little more open with Bulma and told her that he'd worked with Raditz for close to twenty five years before he'd been killed in combat on Earth.

"He was a real creep," Bulma shivered, "you have to be really sick to kidnap and hurt a little kid!"

Vegeta shrugged. "Comes with the line of work we were both in. Raditz was a cunning bastard, I'll give him that much, but his death was no true loss for me."

Bulma's brows rose in surprise at Vegeta's coldness. "Even after more than two decades with him? Weren't you friends or at least on good terms?"

"Hmmph. It was work. I suppose you could say we were friendly at times, but that was only for brief periods. We were never friends. I didn't make friends. Too risky."

"Oh... what about the big guy you came with?"

"Nappa was my body guard. He was appointed by my father when I was four and remained my guard out of misplaced loyalty to my father, I am sure. Ah, but it was good to have two men to test my food and drink for drugs or poison."

"You seriously faced attempts on your life?"

"A few times. Been drugged a few times, stabbed three times, shot twice, and nearly scalded once."

Bulma looked away, eyes wide with horror, and took a long sip of tea. Vegeta understood it was a silent cue to change the subject.

Between sips of tea, Vegeta asked Bulma about her education and her age and was surprised (and pleased) to learn they'd both been born within five years of each other. She held several degrees and was planning to continue her studies, which rather impressed Vegeta. Clearly, the woman was much more intelligent than her loud personality let on.

Bulma opened her tablet and flipped to a blueprint and skeletal manual for one of her latest projects. "Check this out, Vegeta," she zoomed in on a computer-generated rendering of the completed device, "this is a defence drone I'm working on right now. It can be used as a sort of robot sparring partner or even as a simulated enemy during combat training. I originally got the idea during my college years when I spent a semester in a dorm infested with big, hairy flies, _eeeeuuughh_... long story short, the idea back then was to have the drone identify the flies as they approached and suck them into a container once they were within range. It hovered around the dorm for a few hours a day and it worked pretty well all things considered, although sometimes it sucked up somebody's hair or something..."

"Short story long..." Vegeta waved his hand from side to side and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"I'm getting to it! Anyway, a few weeks ago I revisited the old blueprints and found some notes about turning them into defensive drones for Goku to train with!"

"That's it! No wonder Kakkarot became such a brilliant fighter! You humans have been presenting him with a simulated enemy to constantly battle..."

"Hold up, Vegeta! I had completely forgotten about those notes and never made the drones for Goku to train with! The reason I'm telling you this is because I've made the first generation of defence drones for you to use in the gravity simulator. There'll be some minor adjustments to make in the morning, and I'll need you to spend some time with me customizing the programs I've created, but they'll be ready for use by tomorrow evening."

The Saiyan's face brightened and a smile appeared, less crooked than the usual smirk he flashed on a regular basis, truly delighted by this news. He now had a true advantage over Kakkarot and would train harder than ever before.

"This is very good news. I thank you for telling me, Bulma, and I am willing to meet with you tomorrow after my midday meal."

"Then it's agreed, Vegeta. I know you don't like being thrown off schedule, so I appreciate you doing this on short notice."

"I am looking forward to having such an advantage over Kakkarot now. It is you who is doing me the greater favour here."

"It won't be much longer until we can use the Namekian Dragonballs. I wonder what Yamcha will be like when he returns..." Bulma dissolved into a sigh.

"You are very attractive." Vegeta wanted to slap himself the moment he blurted it out. _Why did I say that?!_ He chastised himself and the worry that she wouldn't want to deal with him the next day started to creep into every racing thought he had.

"Oh... um, thanks, Vegeta. But Yamcha's my boyfriend, and I'm gonna wait for him to get back, you know? He was my first boyfriend and we've been together a long time..."

"Of course I know that! I've had enough company for the night, if you should like to leave now. Good night."

He rose from the bed much faster than she did and showed her out of his bedroom before shutting the door firmly and turning the lock. She was in such a rush to leave and she forgot her mug of tea on his night table.

Very quickly Vegeta undressed, turned off all the lights, and curled up underneath the covers. He could smell her on the duvet where she'd sat and pushed it onto the floor so he wouldn't have to think about her as he fell asleep.

Bulma went to her room, stunned by what had just happened, and sat at her desk to write in her journal.

_10:15 PM_

_Vegeta just admitted he's attracted to me. I really have no idea how to approach this, especially with Yamcha bound to return to Earth in a few weeks. Hopefully he'll be in a decent mood tomorrow._


	10. Mood Swings

When it came to the two hired chefs at the Capsule Corp's living quarters, Vegeta found he immediately hated the one called "Tyler", and when Vegeta discovered that his mere presence made the pudgy man develop a hunched posture, an uncontrollable stutter, and the inability to even make eye contact with the Saiyan during their brief interactions, he decided that it would make for good sport and routinely terrified the chef.

Vegeta had woken up in a bad mood after his awkward interaction with Bulma the night before, and his mood grew darker throughout the morning as he worked through what he personally considered to be poor training. Training at levels almost up to 100 times Earth's normal gravity wasn't enough to satisfy him, and failing to properly land a backflip twice in one hour while at ninety times Earth's normal gravity only made him angrier. The second fall was the hardest; he crashed to the floor lower back first and the stub of his tail throbbed angrily as he picked himself back up, seething in frustration.

Still, Vegeta broke from his schedule at eleven o'clock, went inside to take a shower, changed into fresh clothing, and went downstairs to toy with the chef and get his lunch.

"Hello, Tyler," Vegeta slinked into the kitchen and started rifling through the refrigerator for something to drink, barefoot and hair still damp enough that it was slightly relaxed and hung down his neck, "I'm really damn hungry and in a very shitty mood, so you better be fixing something good."

"Uuuuh, h-h-hello, S-s-s-s-" the chef caught a glimpse of the increasingly muscular man with the mercurial temper before he was too close for comfort, "Sir... today's lunch i-i-ss br-braisedrabbitwithpolenta a-a-a-nnnd spinach salad."

"Fine. I wish to eat outdoors. Take the food out there."

"Eh-heh heh, all right... t-t-take a seat, it'll be right out..."

The Saiyan went outside with two bottles of mineral water tucked under one arm and took a seat at a wrought iron patio table on the patio. At least the sun is warm today, seeing this planet isn't always hot enough for real comfort, thought Vegeta. When the food arrived two minutes later, served in the largest bowls the chef could find, Vegeta sniffed the braised rabbit before deciding that it looked decent. He picked up a leg of rabbit and began to eat, his back totally turned to the chef.

"D-d-do you like it, Ss-Sir?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Will you piss off already?" Vegeta dismissed the chef with the wave of a hand.

"Prick..." Tyler muttered to himself and he turned around to go inside when the Saiyan pushed himself out of his chair, stepped back two paces and performed another back flip, this one high and strong enough that he effortlessly cleared the chef's balding head and landed softly on his feet, less than thirty centimeters away from the horrified man.

"What did you call me? Come on," Vegeta picked the chubby cook up by the front of his white chef's jacket and pinned him against the doorway leading into the living room, "be a man and insult me to my face! What did you call me, fatass? Tell me again!"

"P-p-please! Stop!" The chef's pasty round face turned red and sweat beaded on his forehead. He could barely breathe as the powerful man started to hold him midair by his shirt collar, feet dangling two inches off the ground.

"Oh my god! Vegeta, stop! Let him go! Let go now!" Bulma raced across the yard, having spotted the argument from one of the smaller greenhouses. She bounded up the steps onto the patio and tried to separate the two men before the argument turned violent.

"This stuttering coward can't even talk shit to my face!" The Saiyan barely acknowledged Bulma and he pushed the man against the door frame with even greater force. "C'mon, you still want to talk?"

"Vegeta! Stop now!" Bulma grabbed Vegeta's left arm and tried to force it down. It was no use with the Saiyan's incredible strength, but after another five tense seconds, he lowered the chef to the ground and let go.

Tyler the chef looked at both of them in utter disbelief as he tried to catch his breath, heart pounding up into his throat. "T-t-that's it! This guy is a f-f-fucking psycho! I quit! I'd rather work as a line cook than deal with this crap!" He stormed into the kitchen, tearing off his chef's jacket to reveal a sweat-drenched t-shirt underneath, and started to pack his materials.

"Wait!" Bulma ran in after him, hoping there would be some way to make him reconsider his decision.

Outside, Vegeta had returned to his meal like nothing happened. He broke the tiny rabbit bones and sucked away at the miniscule amount of marrow before chucking them into the garden.

Tyler the chef could not be convinced to stay at Capsule Corp. He complained that Vegeta routinely insulted him (yet almost always commented that the food was "decent") and intimidated him. The violent incident had been enough for Tyler, and in the end he agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement and would not press charges in exchange for a generous settlement and referral to a five star restaurant in West City.

Bulma was infuriated at Vegeta, but she also knew that confronting him would be a poor decision when he was already angry. Feeling rather helpless by the time Tyler had left, she poured a mug of coffee and went to the lab to take a few quiet moments for herself before Vegeta came by for the tutorial.

* * *

The Saiyan's mood had levelled somewhat as he took twenty minutes to lay on the grass after he'd eaten, basking under the high sun and finding some pleasure in how hot his hair felt.

He went to the lab and found Bulma had taken the drones out for a test flight. Four metal spheres whizzed over his head and began to circle him. Circular lights located in the center of each drone flashed green. Vegeta was impressed by their speed and the smirk appeared on his face when one sent a strong blast of cold air that hit his hand when he reached out to swat it.

"Glad you came by, Vegeta. The only way to shut off the drone is to tap the button in the center, and if you aren't fast enough..."

"What, I'll be blasted by air cannons? I'm shaking in my boots already."

Bulma mimicked Vegeta's smirk and folded her arms across her chest. "No, Vegeta. You'll be hit by a blast of energy. The drone is set on "safety" right now."

Vegeta's brows rose in surprise and he took a seat beside the young engineer. "Bulma, you have my full attention."

The drones proved easy to use, but difficult to shut off. Bulma led Vegeta through a tutorial and explained she'd programmed the drones to work at increasingly difficult (and painful) levels. Level zero would only produce blasts of cold air, levels one through three produced increasingly severe shocks, level four produced a laser that could potentially result in minor burns, and level five produced a full-on blast of energy that could leave exposed skin with second degree burns. With each level, the drones moved faster and more aggressively. She'd also programmed the drones so Vegeta could battle against one to six opponents at once.

"This is brilliant..." Vegeta managed to shut off one of the drones when he tapped the center button. Its tiny cannons retreated, the green light turned blue, and it flew back to its charging station at the end of the lab. "You're a goddamn genius, Bulma."

"Of course I'm a genius! It's about time you acknowledged that, too! You need to be very careful when using these, do you understand?"

"Yeah..." the Saiyan watched in amazement as the drone docked in its charging station and shut off. Looks like there are a few highly intelligent humans on this backwater planet, he thought.

"Vegeta, I'm not joking around here! You could be seriously injured if you try to take on more than you can handle. Just... look... start at level one or two, set the gravity simulator to an intensity you find comfortable, and see if you can shut off the drones in under a minute before you program the drones to blast you. Unlike you, those drones aren't going to slow down when the gravity increases."

"Do you really doubt me?" Vegeta looked at Bulma, eyes narrowing.

"Not at all. Please just be careful, alright? I don't want you to wind up in the hospital!"

"Oh, shut up..." Vegeta felt his face growing hot again, "I won't be hospitalized."

* * *

At five thirty, Vegeta left the simulator sporting more than a dozen dime-sized minor burns to his forearms, neck, and calves, and stomach. He'd had another fall, this time rolling his left ankle. He felt overheated, hungry, and his head hurt. He limped into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom, locked the door, and drew a cool bath. He'd have to take the rest of the day off and let his body recover, he realized, letting himself sink into the water until it had reached his chin.

He changed into clean track pants, undershirt, and fleece-lined hooded sweatshirt, but opted not to wear any shoes or socks. The floors at the Briefs Compound were always clean, Vegeta reasoned, so there was no way he'd further injure his feet or ankles.

Mrs. Briefs was the first to comment on Vegeta's state when he hobbled into the kitchen and dropped into his seat at the table.

"You're hurt! Oh, honey," she pulled out an extra chair and placed it two feet away to his left side, "did you twist your ankle? You ought to keep it elevated. Here," she assisted him in putting his leg up on the chair even though he didn't really need any help, "stay like that and I'll get an ice-pack for you."

"Hello, Vegeta. Intense day of training?" Dr. Briefs took his seat at the head of the table and acknowledged Vegeta's injury with a short nod.

"Intense day period."

"Ah, well, you should take a day off to rest that ankle, son."

"Nnh." Vegeta rolled his eyes and hissed in surprise as Mrs. Briefs laid an ice-pack wrapped in a clean tea towel over his ankle.

"So... I hear you and one of the chefs didn't get along very well today. Bulma told me he has chosen to accept a position at The Black Piano instead." Dr. Briefs looked at Vegeta with one brow slightly cocked, doubting Bulma had told him the truth behind Tyler the chef's departure.

"Good. I hated him. Where's dinner?"

"On its way, Vegeta. We're having Lebanese tonight. In the meantime, what can I get you to drink?" Mrs. Briefs moved back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, setting out glasses and utensils.

The Saiyan shrugged. He didn't care as long as his hunger would be sated and his thirst quenched.

"Where's Bulma?" Vegeta finally asked once the food had arrived. He was pleased to see Mrs. Briefs had ordered extra pita and toum for him to enjoy.

"She went out," explained Mrs. Briefs, "said she wanted an evening to herself."

Vegeta smirked. "I used to take evenings to myself when I was younger, whenever I was on leave... not that I remember most of them."

"Oh, dear," muttered Mrs. Briefs.

"Hah! So the "college years" really are universal! Good for you, son! And here I was starting to think you were completely incapable of letting loose and having fun!"

"You have _no_ idea..." Vegeta retorted through a mouthful of shish taouk.

* * *

Unable to train after dinner, Vegeta took to the living room couch (nobody complained when he lay across it, in fact, Mrs. Briefs made him lift his left foot so she could prop it up with two small cushions) and found himself slipping into a frantic internal dialogue. How long would this injury sideline him? How much longer until the Namekians used their Dragonballs and Kakkarot returned? He completely ignored Doctor and Mrs. Briefs, so deep in his thoughts that he only heard Mrs. Briefs asking if he was alright when she gently tapped his shoulder.

"Yes! I'm fine!"

"Say... what kind of music do you like, Vegeta?" Dr. Briefs moved to his stereo system and began to search through his collection of vinyl records.

Vegeta pulled himself up into a seated position. "What? I don't know. Never considered it before."

"Never considered music, eh... alright. Then we should start with The Beatles!"

"Why not Beethoven?" Asked Mrs. Briefs.

"Good suggestion... I suppose we can start playing music every night! Wouldn't that be a great way to expose our guest to more culture? What do you say, Vegeta?"

Vegeta rose from the couch, hurriedly limped into the kitchen, pulled a six pack of beer from the refrigerator, limped back through the living room and out onto the patio. Mrs. Briefs followed behind him, urging him to sit down and keep his ankle elevated.

"Screw off. I'm taking an evening to myself! Nobody is to follow me unless they're craving a fight." Vegeta looked back at his hosts for only a split second with his eyes narrowed to slits, before he flew off into the darkening skies, heading towards the ocean.


	11. Making Plans (or, Things Always Change)

The sea breeze was mercifully light and it was just warm enough that Vegeta did not regret leaving the house barefoot when he finally landed at the peak of a jagged cliff overlooking the ocean. He found a patch of grass and sat down, keeping his left leg stretched out in front of him and quickly cracking open a can of beer. It foamed a bit after being shaken repeatedly during the Saiyan's high speed flight away from the Briefs compound.

The sun sank underneath the horizon. The sky darkened, first minute by minute, and then second by second once the last sliver of light seemingly disappeared underneath the sea. He stared into the evening sky, noting the locations of different constellations as they emerged and wondering if he'd ever again travel through the galaxy as extensively as he had as a young man.

Those years had been anxiety-ridden and filled with deeply unpleasant surprises. Vegeta had spent up to sixteen months at a time curled up in his pod, his body kept in stasis until he was mere hours away from landing on an unfamiliar planet, sometimes sent just to run a small errand on behalf of Frieza and sometimes sent to assassinate a leader or destroy everything outright. His assignments always changed- the only constants in his life were his two comrades, Raditz and Nappa, and his growing anger.

He crushed his first empty can of beer and tossed it over the edge of the cliff. He couldn't hear it land and wondered if the wind had picked it up and carried it away for him. He opened his second beer and drank it very quickly.

I'm trapped here, he thought resentfully, sure the Briefs may have another ship, but if I leave, where will I go? I cannot live on a spaceship forever. Even if Frieza were still alive, there would be precious few planets that would welcome the prince of all Saiyans with open arms.

"I wonder how different planets are handling Freiza's death... surely by now the news is travelling fast..." Vegeta mused aloud, cracking open his third can of beer. The Saiyan could feel the alcohol moving through his system and welcomed the buzz.

He'd left Frieza's station on Planet 79 with Nappa and Raditz in tow for the very last time almost three years prior, assigned to eliminate the insect-like people of a massive planet called Ahdar and get it ready for sale. The plan had been to burn their way through Ahdar over the course of ten to twelve months (they'd been given up to two and a half years to kill all advanced life forms and then destroy all remaining structures), working in rotating eight to ten hour shifts, but when they encountered a heavily-armed populace that refused to go down without a fight, the three Saiyans realized they would need help to get the job done.

"Hmm, it's just a thought... I've got a younger brother kicking around on some rock called "Earth". He's probably about a year away from here- we'll be put a bit behind schedule but should still be able to complete the job before the deadline, and it'll mean more help from our own kind with future assignments," Raditz had suggested as he wound-down from his shift at their temporary base camp. Nappa had left for his shift and Vegeta was required to stay alert and guard the camp.

"You have a brother?" Vegeta questioned his comrade through a mouthful of meat pulled from the claw of a slain Ahdarian scout he'd killed an hour prior. He'd already eaten most of the creature's innards after discovering they tasted rather like shellfish. The huge claw had been cracked open and balanced on small rocks and left to cook over glowing embers from the campfire. The Saiyan lay on his side on the mossy ground, propped up on one elbow and eyes constantly wandering as he monitored his surroundings.

"Yeah. His name is Kakkarot. He was born when I was thirteen... or was I fourteen? One of the last Saiyans off planet Vegeta, if not the very last Saiyan to escape... but I'm thinking he'll be pushing twenty one or twenty two by this point and has probably been long-finished with his assignment there."

"Then why the hell didn't he return to a nearby station for debriefing and further instructions, hmm? He's probably dead, Raditz." Vegeta spat out a fragment of shell before he sat up and started to comb his fingers through his hair. He cringed when he came across a matted patch of dried blood and dirt two inches above his scalp. Definitely _not_ his own blood at that point...

"Fair point. I am not certain he is still alive, but it may be worthwhile to check anyway," Raditz replied, cleaning multiple cuts and scrapes to his powerful legs using a healing spray he carried in an inner pocket in his armour, "it's possible his ship was destroyed or malfunctioned and he's just been biding his time on the planet until somebody shows up."

"Knowing your luck, Raditz, you'll manage to get your stupid ass killed the same day you land on Earth." Vegeta laughed at his own remark, reached over the fire and pulled out another steaming chunk of claw meat.

"Vegeta, that's not funny."

"I will be sure to laugh as you choke on your own blood and die in agony, Raditz. Go to Earth and check out the situation there. Keep your communication line open so we can hear what's going on when you get there. Do you understand?"

"Got it. Wake me up if the plans change before I get to Earth. Gonna be rough, knowing I'm not gonna get laid for another year or two..." Raditz ran his tongue over his top teeth and cocked a brow. He set down his healing spray and a lazy smirk spread across his face when he looked at Vegeta.

"Don't look at me!" Snapped Vegeta.

"Come onnn..." Raditz drawled, "you're not gonna see me for a long time..."

"This is work..."

"You're no fun!"

"You're a disgusting son of a bitch, Raditz. I really do want you leave once you're done taking care of your superficial injuries."

Raditz clicked his tongue in annoyance and took the claw out of the fire and started eating. "C'mon, let loose for a bit. You need to relax." He finished all the claw meat in four greedy bites.

Vegeta stood up and moved to the shore of the shallow lake by which they were currently camping and pulled his armour and gloves off. "Raditz, you keep pushing me and I'm going to tear your dick off. Just jerk off before going into stasis if you're that horny, or fuck an Earthling should any of them remain when you get there. I want _nothing_ to do with you. Now get the hell out of here before I reconsider our agreement and give you some serious injuries to deal with!"

"Fine, I'm going! See you and Nappa in about two years." Raditz called for his pod and let himself rise into the air in order to meet it just on the other side of a dense patch of brushwood.

Vegeta didn't bother acknowledging Raditz as he left. He undressed and walked into the lake to wash off. It would be the last time they would speak in person.

* * *

"Things never seem to go as planned..." said Vegeta, now laying on his back and watching the stars turn, somewhat drunk and his mood growing darker, "no matter how hard I work. No matter how thoroughly I think things through. And now with Kakkarot a Super Saiyan and bound to return soon, it seems that my plans may be thwarted, and I simply cannot allow that to happen yet again!"

He sat up, gazing at the point where the night sky merged with the dark ocean, and sighed in frustration. "I must make alternative plans now. Perhaps it would be best to leave just before Kakkarot is wished back and return to Earth at a later date."

Vegeta rose to his feet and took off into the night once more, unsure of where to head next.


	12. Searching

Morning dew was starting to evaporate from the manicured grass around the Briefs compound as the family matriarch cut fresh flowers to bring inside for the kitchen and bedrooms. She noticed that Vegeta's bed was still made when she'd woken up at seven. He hadn't returned during the night, and Mrs. Briefs had to remind herself that her guest could take care of himself just fine.

As she cut peonies from one of the largest bushes in the garden, Vegeta landed nearby in the yard, his clothing wet and eyes tired.

"Good morning, Vegeta. Why don't you come inside and warm up? I'll make you some tea."

He didn't object or offer a sharp retort to her suggestion. Instead, he silently followed her inside and went upstairs to get changed before returning to the kitchen.

She poured him a large mug of mint tea and toasted some sliced whole wheat bread. He seemed a bit detached and she got the feeling he wouldn't be eating a huge meal for a change. Whatever he was doing all night it wasn't because he was happy, she thought, something is bothering him and he's not going to open up about it to anybody. I just hope there won't be too much acting out today...

"Would you mind company, Vegeta?" She asked, moving to pull out the chair across the table from the Saiyan.

He shrugged and picked at a slice of toast. "If you insist."

"You look very tired. What did you do last night?"

Vegeta looked up at Mrs. Briefs and exhaled sharply through his nostrils. "It was nothing that would be of interest to you. Just searching for something."

"Searching for what?"

He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. Vegeta knew that Mrs. Briefs probably didn't understand it meant he was considering his words before he spoke, but she tended not to question to his non-verbal vocalizations as often as Dr. Briefs or Bulma did.

Finally, he spoke: "I was looking for the place where my comrade was killed by the one named Piccolo about a year and a half ago."

"Oh," Mrs. Briefs took a long sip of tea, "paying your respects?"

"I didn't find the place. Tell Bulma to come speak with me later today. I need to ask her about where he died. She'll know."

"Of course. Say, you don't have fresh flowers in your room, do you?"

He choked on his tea. "I don't need flowers in there!"

"It's no problem! It'll liven the place up! You know, you can rearrange or decorate that room however makes you feel most comfortable, Vegeta. Whatever you need to feel at home, just ask. And you can stay here for as long as you need to."

Vegeta almost swallowed a mouthful of dry toast when he tried to stifle a bark of laughter.

"So," he cleared his throat, "the Dragonballs will be ready for use soon..."

"Our Namekian guests told me another few days at the most. They're such lovely people, aren't they?"

Vegeta shrugged. "Wouldn't know."

"You're welcome to help me in the garden any time, Vegeta. The Namekians have been taking care of the plants in the green houses. One more set of hands would always be appreciated."

"It is best that the green men to stay far away from me."

Mrs. Briefs sighed. "You don't need to be alone here. Get out and enjoy yourself, it can't be much fun isolating yourself in that simulator every single day."

"I must train. Whether or not it is "fun" doesn't matter at this point."

"I know how determined you are, honey. You already look a lot different since you arrived several weeks ago. You should be proud."

"A Saiyan with no pride is a Saiyan who has given up on his life, and I refuse to give up!" He pushed away his tea and rose from his seat at the table and went to his room without saying another word.

When Vegeta awoke at two in the afternoon, the first thing he noticed was a slender vase holding three peonies set on his desk.

"I'm going to get soft if these humans keep treating me this way..."

* * *

Vegeta took the entire day off to let his ankle recover. It didn't hurt badly, but it was swollen and tender enough that the Saiyan knew trying to land another back flip in intense gravity would result in pain and possibly aggravate the injury.

Bulma came to his room at four thirty in the afternoon, as Vegeta lay on his stomach and flipped through the channels on the television that had been put in his bedroom. "My Mom said you asked me to stop by. What's up?"

"I need you to take me to the place where Raditz died. What did you do with his body?"

"Uh... Krillin and Master Roshi buried him. We didn't mark the grave but I know the general area."

Vegeta smirked. "What a fitting end..."

"Did we do something wrong by burying him?"

The Saiyan pulled himself into a cross-legged position on his bed and chuckled. "Saiyan custom dictates that we cremate our dead to honour their strength and valour. We also cremate the dead so that scavengers may not steal any items they were carrying at the time of death. There's also a belief that cremation assists in helping the spirit make its way to the afterlife... but I now think that the spirit can leave the body without any help. By burying him, you've basically said he contributed nothing and deserves to be forgotten."

"Ooh... I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

* * *

They left after dinner, taking an airship that boasted comfortable seating and even a mini-fridge on board. Bulma set the coordinates for the valley where Raditz had been killed almost eighteen months prior and sit back in the pilot's seat, mentally preparing herself for the journey. It would be the first time she'd be truly all alone with Vegeta.

Once they were at cruising altitude, Bulma set the airship on autopilot and fetched a can of fruit juice from the fridge.

"It's going to take about two hours to get there. Think you'll be okay with it getting dark?"

"Saiyans can see very well in the dark."

"What exactly are you planning to do, Vegeta?"

"I'm going to exhume Raditz' remains. He was carrying a few items that may be of some help to me. You're the one who took his scouter, correct?"

"I am. Took me an entire night to get it to work in English."

"Ah, so you're the one I kept hearing down the line..."

Bulma's brows rose in surprise and she turned to Vegeta. "Wait, you could hear me? How?!"

"The scouters worked as communication devices. Raditz had turned his communication line on so I could monitor his activities on Earth. After he died, you apparently took his scouter but you did not turn off the communication line. I heard you talking with your friends. Heard you crying. I could hear you taking the scouter apart and eventually heard you putting it back together again. Then you wore it for a few minutes and checked the power levels of your friends."

Bulma went pale. "You... you listened in on me?"

"You and the short bald one were the very first human voices I heard. It's not right to accuse me of "listening in on you" like I was deliberately spying, but I did hear you speaking when you wore the scouter."

"Why didn't you respond?"

"What was I to say? "Ha ha, I'm coming for you", or perhaps, "greetings Earthling, prepare to die"? I just listened to you for a few minutes before going into stasis for about eight months. Nappa and I made a quick stop before landing on Earth, but by then I wasn't hearing your voice any longer. You must have left the scouter in a drawer or something."

Bulma was horrified by the revelation that Vegeta had heard her voice more than a year prior to their chance meeting on Namek.

"I will say... your voice is much more pleasant than the one you call Krillin."

"He'll be coming back in a few days... and Yamcha too. When they return, please don't harm them..."

"Not a chance," scoffed Vegeta, "I'm not interested in them anyway. I will wait for Kakkarot, and we will not battle near your family's property."

They flew in silence for more than an hour when Bulma finally spoke again.

"So Raditz really was Goku's older brother, huh? But he was so nasty! The total opposite of Goku."

"Kakkarot was raised on Earth and supposedly had experienced a head injury when he was very young, which very well may have affected his disposition. Raditz seems to think he was about fourteen years Kakkarot's senior. You are also right in saying they were radically different from each other."

"When Raditz landed on Roshi's island, I started to wonder if Goku had a long-lost fraternal twin or something before he started talking... but it didn't take long to discover they're nothing alike! I can't sense energy like you or Krillin or Goku can, but I got a really bad feeling when he showed up. Not to mention he smelled terrible!"

Vegeta smirked. "By the time Raditz landed here, he'd been forced to go without a bath for more than a year. He took pride in his appearance, you know. He knew full well he was attractive and liked to use it to his advantage."

"Ick... he was so sleazy."

"Very sleazy and quick witted, a terrible combination. He may have been physically weak, but he wasn't the worst partner to work with all things considered- he got the job done and knew when to shut his mouth. He was also good at charming others and lulling them into a false sense of security. The only time I didn't loathe him was when we were drinking."

"You don't seem like somebody who would take an evening off. No offense..."

"None taken. I haven't partied in years."

"When Yamcha gets back, I'm going to take him out for dinner and dancing." Bulma's chest heaved as she sighed, hopeful and happy for her future with Yamcha.

"I take it you've been together for a long time?"

"On and off... he's cheated on me a few times. Maybe he'll return a changed man."

"Cheated on you? I don't understand that expression."

"What I mean is that he went out and had sex with different women when we were supposed to be in a monogamous relationship."

"Hmm. Well, don't look to me for any advice." He got up from his chair and went to the fridge and found wrapped sandwiches and fruit. He was hungry and brought two sandwiches and an apple back to his seat.

"It's official: you do eat more than Goku." Bulma eyed her passenger as he started eating and shook her head in disbelief. The airship's GPS beeped, indicating they'd arrived at the valley. She landed the airship in a patch of thin grass and shut the engines off.

"Arriving when I start eating. Typical. Alright..." the Saiyan threw the second unwrapped sandwich on the dashboard and disembarked.

Miles away from light pollution, the night sky revealed billions of stars and the band of the Milky Way galaxy that seemed to stretch for miles across the horizon.

"Wow! Look at the sky! Isn't it just gorgeous?" Bulma marvelled at the sight above.

"It looks really nice from a distance. Too bad the reality is much worse," the Saiyan snickered and bent down to pull up a clump of soil. He broke it up in his right hand and breathed in its scent several times, exhaling through his mouth, seemingly trying to get a taste for something in the earth.

He stood up straight and sniffed the dirt one last time before tossing it over his shoulder. "That way," he pointed northeast towards a snow-capped mountain range, "about five hundred meters."

They found his grave within fifteen minutes of searching; Vegeta relying on scent and night vision and Bulma relying on a flashlight and never straying too far from the Saiyan for fear of what might be moving through the grasses. A patch of young grass and crumbly soil clued Vegeta in.

"Hope you humans didn't bury him too deep..." Vegeta plunged his hands into the dirt and started throwing it to one side. His knuckles soon brushed against something he immediately recognized as bone and he started to sweep away the dirt around it. Soon, he realized it was a femur, huge and bright against the dark soil.

Raditz' corpse had been almost completely reduced to skeleton by that point, although a fair amount of his hair was still attached to the skull. The huge suit of armour hung around the shoulders and collarbones and Vegeta started to pull it off the body.

Five feet away, Bulma started to retch at the smell of decay and turned away, her mouth filling with saliva. "Ugh! That's disgusting! Is that armour what you were looking for, Vegeta?"

"Yes!" He called, inspecting the cracks to the armour and hoping the inner pockets were intact, "we can leave in a few minutes. You work with microchips, correct?" He pulled off Raditz' skull and shook it gently. He could hear something rattling inside.

"Yeah! Are you getting those too?"

Vegeta smashed the skull open and found three microchips inside, covered in dried grey matter. He pocketed them and dropped the skull back into the earth. He pulled the armour out and climbed out of the shallow grave.

"I'm so grossed out! Vegeta, I'll leave you to pay your final respects because I can't take that smell any more! See you at the ship." Bulma turned and jogged back to the ship, fearing she'd vomit if she lingered at the grave site any longer.

The Saiyan stared down at the bones and sighed. "You're the reason I'm in this mess, but you're also the reason I have a worthy opponent. Until we meet again, you stupid bastard," he sent a wave of intensely hot energy across the grave, which turned the bones and dirt to ash within seconds.

The wind picked up as Vegeta returned to the ship with the microchips and suit of upper body armour. He set them in the back and sat back down. He went to eat his sandwich when he realized his hands were filthy. "Ughhh..."

Bulma laughed and reached into her purse. "Try these," she handed him a few foil-wrapped wet napkins.

* * *

They returned home just after ten in the evening and went to the lab together. Vegeta carried the armour to a large steel table directly under a set of powerful lights and started to poke his fingers into its different internal pockets. He found sixteen different vials carrying near-microscopic labels in Galactic Standard; some containing seeds and liquid for Saibamen and others containing useful medications. Carefully inspecting the contents of each vial, he determined at least six of them were recreational substances. He put those vials in his pockets right away.

_Sooner or later I'm going to crave a night out of my own head..._

"Wait, if I can take a very tiny sample from those vials, I could probably create analogues to any medicines you've required in the past." Bulma offered, still unsure of how Vegeta would react to human drugs if he ever fell ill or was seriously injured.

"These ones, then," he gave her eight vials containing medicine, "these are drugs with _genuine_ medical applications. Don't worry about the other eight, they're completely useless," he lied.

"Would you mind helping me label the samples? Any information you have about these medications would help me a great deal. It might take a while, so we'll order a pizza."

"You have a deal, Bulma."

* * *

Two days later, Vegeta's sprained ankle had recovered and he'd resumed his intense training. Raditz had been carrying an extremely powerful painkiller and after Bulma had taken a mere shaving off one of the tiny tablets (there had been more than 100 remaining in the 2 inch vial) and he'd rediscovered he only needed to take one to feel better.

After showering in the early afternoon, Vegeta ventured onto his balcony to get some fresh air and his eyes widened with surprise when he spotted the scene down on the ground: Kakkarot's kid and his wife, all the Namekians, and the Briefs were gathered around the reactivated Dragonballs, chattering excitedly.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, "I guess it's time. I'd best get ready."

He rushed back inside and changed into his old, tattered uniform, his gloves and his boots. It may not have been ideal, but he wanted to appear before Kakkarot as the prince of all Saiyans and not a refugee stranded on Earth. Dressed in his uniform, he watched from his balcony with his heart pounding as the young Namekian called Dende called forth the dragon.


	13. Reunion and Departure

The awesome size of the dragon called Porunga still took Vegeta by surprise and made him feel weak. The sky overhead turned black. When the dragon spoke in the Namekian tongue it felt as though the Earth itself were trembling beneath Vegeta's feet and he tightened his grip on the balcony's railing. He knew that immortality would always be out of his grasp. There was nothing he could do as the humans got the chance to revive their friends and Namekians wished for a new home.

_Kakkarot will return today and I am not a Super Saiyan... nowhere close!_

He could scarcely breathe, more anxious at that moment than he'd been in many years. His stomach felt like it was twisting into knots.

First, they wished for Kakkarot and Krillin to be brought to the check-in station.

"The one called Krillin has been brought to the check-in station. I cannot bring the one called Goku to the check-in station because he is alive!"

The Saiyan's jaw dropped. Kakkarot had survived?! But how? Surely he had misheard the young Namekian translating the dragon's words!

They used the second wish to bring Krillin back to life. He appeared before the crowd gathered in the garden, clad in the armour Vegeta had given him on Namek and very confused for several moments before recognizing where he was. A round of cheers and applause from the crowd made Vegeta roll his eyes and sneer in disgust.

His heart pounded in his throat as they asked the dragon to bring Kakkarot back to Earth with their third and final wish.

When Kakkarot did not appear before the crowd, Vegeta's breath seemed to get trapped somewhere in his chest and he started to worry that his rival had become capable of resisting the power of a supernatural creature capable of bringing the dead back to life.

"I cannot bring the one called Goku here. He has requested not to return at this time but vows to return on his own at a later date. You have one wish remaining... speak now!"

The Saiyan rushed back into his bedroom, snatched the gym bag Bulma had given him from his closet and started to shove a few changes of clothing, his trainers, a few toiletries inside. He threw all the vials into a side pouch and left his bedroom. He went across the hall to Bulma's room, rifled through the jewelry box set on her desk and took three gold rings set with precious stones, a gold bauble that looked like a tiny arrow, and two gold chain necklaces, one chain delicate and the other thick and almost heavy in his palm. He shoved them into the compartment holding his vials of medicine. So furious he couldn't even zip the gym bag shut, he rushed downstairs and took all the fruit from the refrigerator, a few tins of tuna fish and box of crackers from the cupboards, and finally went into the living room and snatched several large bottles of liquor (not really knowing what varieties they were) from Dr. Brief's home bar and threw them inside the bag.

_Everybody's hanging around outside and I'm robbing them blind. This should be enough to help me get a fresh start..._

Vegeta went out the side door and ran to the gravity simulator. It was almost identical to Kakkarot's ship in every way and he knew it was his ticket out of there.

He boarded, set his bag into a chair and set the navigation console's coordinates for a small planet called Ardeheb. The console's soothing computerized voice initiated a countdown and he sat back in the pilot's seat and swung around to look out the nearest port window.

The sky was back to normal and a celebration was underway. The one called Yamcha had been wished back and he and Bulma were embracing passionately. The eldest Namekian was speaking with Dr. Briefs and they shook hands. Kakkarot's wife appeared furious, and his son seemed somewhat dazed by the news that his father was alive but wouldn't be coming back until a later date.

_I almost feel sorry for that little whelp..._

"Five... four... three... two... one... liftoff."

Less than a minute later, Earth was little more than a rapidly shrinking blue and green marble somewhere outside the port window.

"I should have known Kakkarot would be cunning enough to escape Namek and find a place to continue his training. How foolish of me to underestimate him! I've wasted so much time with those idiots on Earth! What the hell was I thinking?!" Vegeta rose from the pilot's chair and paced around the simulator. The refrigerator in the simulator was kept well-stocked. He opened his gym bag and started to sift through what he'd taken with him.

"Computer! How long until arrival at Ardeheb?" Vegeta barked at the console.

"Estimated time of travel is twenty seven hours. Warning! Upcoming electrical field may result in disturbances in power supply aboard. Maintaining gravity levels no greater than ten times normal gravity strongly advised for next nine hours, thirty minutes."

"Damn it! Fine. It's always something..." Vegeta swung the gym bag over his shoulder and took the ladder down to the lower level to unpack his things.

He could swear he felt turbulence after an hour. After two hours, he heard things rattling around in the cupboards of the on-board kitchenette. Unwilling to risk injury by training in a ship that couldn't guarantee stable gravity at that moment, Vegeta had taken to laying across his narrow bed and flipped through the small selection of films available on a hard drive hooked up to the television. He munched on some fruit absentmindedly and eventually watched movie about a group of men fighting and killing each over a satchel of cash. It wasn't particularly interesting to the Saiyan, but it was enough to keep his mind from racing nonstop until he inevitably had a panic attack.

After the movie was over, the Saiyan decided to try and determine what sort of liquor he'd stolen from the Briefs family. If he didn't like it, he could use it for barter- Vegeta knew that overworked soldiers would give away valuable items for a few sips of liquor. Before Vegeta had decided to betray Frieza, he'd usually been well-compensated for his work. He hadn't had his freedom, or even a home planet, but Vegeta had been reasonably wealthy. Now there was no real way to access the money he'd had at his disposal before. Still, Vegeta knew he would be capable of getting everything he needed, one way or another.

The first bottle was tall, dark green and rectangular. It bore the image of a horned animal and smelled so strongly of medicinal herbs that Vegeta sneezed after a sniff. Cautiously, Vegeta took a small sip. "Eugh! This is for barter."

The next bottle was cylindrical and the liquid was both clear and smelled of little more than ethanol. It was vodka. Vegeta swallowed a capful and decided to keep it. "This might be useful in cleaning cuts..."

He chose to keep vodka, the dark, sweet spirit that he was certain the humans called "rum" and another bottle he immediately identified as whiskey by the purple drawstring bag it was stored in. The Saiyan chose part with the herb liqueur, a foul-smelling spirit that bore the image of a worm on the label, a bottle of red wine, and a strange liqueur that smelled of citrus and yet was bright blue in colour.

After his reluctant taste testing session, Vegeta went to his small on-board washroom to brush his teeth before he curled up in his bed and fell asleep. He dreamed of pale-haired, faceless Saiyans with radiant golden auras surrounding him, blocking him from climbing a steep set of stairs that vanished into a thick fog, and he awoke covered in a film of cold sweat.

The turbulence had passed and Vegeta found himself aimlessly wandering around the ship after a quick shower. Unsure of what he'd encounter on Ardeheb, Vegeta chose to conserve his energy and watched films while eating the last of the fruit he'd stolen from the Briefs family.

* * *

Bulma swore under her breath as she took a second inventory of her jewelry. In all, six pieces were missing and all of them were quite valuable. She and Yamcha had gone up to her bedroom after dinner and she'd screamed when she saw her jewelry box sat open with different pieces strewn about her desk.

"He ripped me off, Yamcha! I can't believe it!"

"I can believe it, babe. Do you really think he'd ever respect you or your property?"

The heiress sighed. "He must have had a good reason for taking what he did... Yamcha, he took gold. Do you know what that means?"

Yamcha didn't respond but he did roll his eyes. He'd only been back on Earth for a few hours and Bulma seemed more concerned with Vegeta than with him, and it was starting to make the resurrected warrior feel quite jealous.

"He took the gold so he'd have something to barter with... I think he took off to find Goku. Think of how many worlds he must know... oh, Yamcha..." Bulma's eyes welled up with tears and she wrapped her slender arms around her boyfriend's shoulders, breaking down in heavy sobs.

Yamcha was almost reluctant to return Bulma's embrace.

* * *

The ship went in for a gentle landing on the barren outskirts of one of the few outposts on the tiny, arid planet. Vegeta had changed the torn shirt from his old uniform for a white t-shirt and took the time to cut one of his t-shirts up the seam, which he then soaked in cold water before turning it into a makeshift tagelmust to protect his face from the heat and dust that awaited him.

Ardeheb had little to offer. Water was scarce, the soil mostly infertile, the heat and sun so intense that Vegeta knew not to leave his skin exposed for very long.

He packed the bottle of blue-coloured liquor and a bottle of fresh water into a plain canvas bag he'd found in the kitchenette, disembarked the ship, and made certain the doors were locked before leaving. It was a three kilometre flight to the outpost and Vegeta decided to fly slowly and fairly low to the ground.

Centre 23 was a lonely place on Ardeheb, little more than a collection of dumpy taverns, a depressing little market, repair shops run by the native people of the planet, and a few stores that catered to PTO soldiers. The Planet Trade Organization only held on to Ardeheb because it was a symbol of how far the Cold Empire stretched across the galaxy.

Vegeta first went to a cramped, dingy stall that sold proper headscarves and handwoven clothing. The market was nearly deserted and many of the stalls had been boarded up. A squat creature with bumpy olive-green skin eyed Vegeta with suspicion.

"I have no money," he pulled at his tagelmust to loosen it, "but I could offer you exotic spirits from a distant planet in exchange for clothing."

"Bah! It's poison." The shopkeeper sneered at Vegeta.

The Saiyan reached into his bag and pulled out the bottle of liquor. "No poison in this vessel, my friend. I need clothing and directions."

"No uniform on you. No see your face. PTO always show faces. You enemy."

Vegeta pulled off his damp tagelmust. The shopkeeper's ugly face froze with fear- he'd heard terrible rumours about a rogue PTO soldier with large almond-shaped eyes and black hair that stood up like a flame who would kill without a second thought and was even said to eat his enemies.

"No, no, no harm. Please, no harm..." the shopkeeper held his hands up for Vegeta, ensuring he was unarmed.

"Then give me what I want and no harm will come to you."

The shopkeeper handed Vegeta a loose, long white tunic, made from a fabric similar to linen, and two large scarves made from vibrant blue and purple material. "You like, yes? Anything you wish."

"It's fine. I wish to know about Frieza's current state. Surely you have been updated."

"Yes, yes... last we hear was months ago, last we hear is he is alive and ageless."

_Either they're way behind on this planet, or Kakkarot really screwed up..._

Vegeta drizzled some fresh water on the blue scarf and quickly wrapped it around his head and face until there was only a slit open for his eyes to see. He checked his reflection in a cracked mirror and decided it looked alright. "I thank you, friend. The garments will be suitable. Our business is done."

The shopkeeper grunted and poked Vegeta's shoulder. "My friend... you pay me now."

"How could I forget?" Vegeta vanished and re-appeared behind the shopkeeper, grabbed hold of his head, and snapped his neck by jerking his head up and to the right. The rotund shopkeeper dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. Vegeta buttoned up his new tunic and left the stall. "And now, something to eat..."


	14. The New Normal

The day after Vegeta had suddenly left, Bulma made good on her promise to take Yamcha out for a great dinner and made reservations at a popular restaurant called Bistro Nineteen.

The first night with Yamcha back on Earth had been very tense after he accused Bulma of caring about Vegeta more than her own boyfriend. Bulma furiously denied these accusations, but her concern for Vegeta's safety lingered in the back of her mind even when they made love for the first time in many months.

Bistro Nineteen was expensive, trendy, and it was notoriously difficult to get a reservation. Bulma had lucked out, scoring a table for two for seven thirty after a last-minute cancellation that very afternoon. She purchased Yamcha a brand new suit and found a sleeveless black dress to wear on their date, pairing it with delicate silver jewelry and a pair of low heels.

Over a shared plate of appetizers, Yamcha asked Bulma about what had happened on Namek.

"It was a mess, Yamcha. I'd rather not even think of how crazy and out-of-control that entire situation was from the second we landed there, let alone talk about it. If it weren't for Gohan, Krillin, and Vege- um, those three made one hell of a team before Goku arrived and if it weren't for them, I wouldn't be alive and you'd still be dead. I'm just glad you're back!"

Yamcha rolled his eyes at the mention of the Saiyan's name. "I still can't believe you offered him a place to stay... and right across the hall, too! What the hell were you thinking? It's a miracle he didn't kill you."

Bulma sighed and spread baked brie on a slice of baguette. "All things considered, Yamcha, he wasn't a horrible guest. Not perfect, but he wasn't as destructive as I initially feared. He's just... intense. There's a lot going on in his head."

"Uh huh," Yamcha threw back a gulp of red wine, "but you can never trust somebody like that. If he wasn't intent on killing you, he was probably planning to rape you."

The young engineer felt her blood pressure spike at Yamcha's remark. "You know what, Yamcha?" Her lips were vibrating with anger, "I _offered_ to let him stay with my family under the condition that he did not touch me, a condition he agreed to, and _not once_ did he touch me! He kept his word, and that matters a great deal to me!"

"You got lucky, Bulma," Yamcha poured himself another glass of wine from the bottle they were sharing, "really lucky. And he still ripped you off."

"The jewelry and alcohol can be easily replaced. It's obvious he took stuff he could easily trade."

"And now you're defending his actions! You slept with him, didn't you?"

Just then, Yamcha's phone buzzed across the table, and before Yamcha could pick it up Bulma took it to see who was contacting her boyfriend. A picture of a heavily made-up woman with pale blonde hair extensions and huge breasts flashed across the screen.

**CANDI: XOXO hi babe, r u back frm ur retreet yet? Missin u n ur sexxy bod tonite ;)**

The warrior swallowed a lump in his throat as Bulma stared at his phone, the colour draining from her face as she re-read the text message several times. Finally, Bulma rose from her seat at the table and gently set the phone back down on the table. "I waited for you to come back, Yamcha, and I really don't appreciate that you keep accusing me of cheating on you because I offered somebody in a bad situation a safe place to stay. Unlike you, I'm serious about that monogamy thing we supposedly agreed to. Here," she reached into her evening bag and dropped several bills in Yamcha's lap, "pay the bill and find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I don't want to see you until you think you can commit to me and me only. Good night."

She stormed out of the restaurant, forgetting her jacket in the process, and hailed a taxi to take her home.

Yamcha sighed, flipped through the bills and discovered Bulma had given him eight thousand Zeni. It was enough to pay for dinner and rent a nice hotel room for at least a week. He put the bills in his wallet and picked up his phone.

**YAMCHA: R u home now? Wanna c u ASAP**

* * *

Ardeheb had been a bust. Everybody Vegeta spoke to on the hellish little planet claimed Frieza was alive and well, supposedly en-route to an unknown planet in search of treasure, or so the story went. He refrained from killing anybody else, rather concerned with getting blood on his new tunic.

Vegeta acquired scouters from a pair of low-ranking soldiers in exchange for a few shots of the blue liquor. He'd gone into a stuffy tavern that stunk of urine and chose not to eat or drink anything, repulsed by his surroundings. He let the soldiers drink directly from the bottle, unconcerned with contaminating the liquid inside.

The barkeep said nothing when the strange traveler with the headscarf and tunic produced outside liquor and immediately started speaking with soldiers. He got a bad feeling and slipped out the back door to smoke.

"So Frieza's alive, then? Thank you for the information, soldier."

"Of course he's alive! Do you know how powerful Frieza is? Nobody can defeat him."

"Is that so?" The Saiyan's eyes narrowed behind the slit in his headscarf.

"It's the truth, man!" The younger of the two soldiers said, a humanoid with limp lime green hair and purple eyes, "I heard this rumour that some solider called Vegeta went AWOL about a year ago and Frieza personally tracked him down and killed him. And that Vegeta guy was supposedly a killing machine!"

"Oh, yeah! I've heard about that Vegeta guy too!" The older soldier, a scaly creature with a sharp nose and beady red eyes, nodded in agreement and looked back at the mysterious figure before him, "the story goes that Vegeta was plotting to overthrow Frieza, but that Frieza caught up with him and killed him. Ripped his heart out of his chest and ate it whole."

"That's quite the story. Good luck to you both," Vegeta adjusted his headscarf and put the scouters into his bag, "you're going to need it in the PTO."

He'd returned to the ship to find a scout circling around it, talking with somebody on the scouter installed into the helmet he wore.

"Hey, you there," Vegeta approached the scout, "leave the area now! This is your only warning."

"Who the hell are you?" The scout scowled at Vegeta and pointed his sidearm at the Saiyan. "Identify yourself!"

"I'm Vegeta," the Saiyan flung a blast of energy at the scout, who was immediately vaporized, "and I'm not dead!"

He boarded the ship and took off, unsure of where to head next.

* * *

It was one in the morning in West City when Bulma decided to try contacting Vegeta's ship. She'd returned home from dinner, furious (but not entirely surprised) with Yamcha's behaviour, changed into sweatpants and a tank top before going to the lab to continue working with the samples of medicine Vegeta had provided her.

She missed Vegeta's company. He would regularly wander into her lab, pull up a chair, sit in it backwards, and silently watch her work. He was as comfortable with silence as she was, and he listened intently when she spoke.

Vegeta had trained for five hours straight at ninety times Earth's gravity before he set the gravity back to normal and rinsed off in his shower and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He was eating a tin of tuna and some crackers when the video screen on the console flashed and the computer said: "INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL..."

He chose to accept the call. "Yeah?"

"Vegeta! You're alright! And... you're eating. Of course you are. Where are you?" Bulma's face broke into a huge smile when she saw him leaning back in the pilot's seat.

"Um," he stopped to swallow a mouthful crackers, "I left Ardeheb a few hours ago. Not a great holiday spot, just in case you're wondering. I'm just trying to get some accurate information before I barge into PTO territory."

"Why did you leave, Vegeta? We were all really upset that you chose to run away like that!"

The Saiyan shrugged and doubted the Namekians or Bulma's boyfriend were upset that he left. "It really doesn't concern you."

"Well, you stole my stuff and took off in the ship I built, so yes, it does concern me!"

"I'm looking for Kakkarot. He must be hiding out somewhere, getting even stronger, and I just can't sit around on Earth until he feels like coming back," Vegeta dug around the cardboard box searching for more crackers, "but I'll return eventually."

"You're always welcome back here, Vegeta. Why didn't you at least tell me you were planning to leave? I could have given you some supplies..."

"It was a bit of a impulsive decision, I'll admit that much. I grabbed what I needed and took off. So, where's your boyfriend? You two seemed pretty damn content as I was leaving."

"Ugh!" Bulma's upper lip curled at the thought of Yamcha. "Don't remind me! He'd rather enjoy the company of some floozy with fake tits over his faithful girlfriend!"

"Anyway..." Vegeta sighed. He studied Bulma's image in the monitor and tried to wrap his head around the concept of a human female with artificial breasts.

"Be careful, Vegeta. I care about you and want to see you return in one piece. You can call me if you run into trouble or just need to talk to somebody. By the way, there's some tools in a red box in the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink. You'll find some screwdrivers, a few hammers, and a drill in there."

"Ah-ha," Vegeta reached into his bag and showed Bulma the scouters through the monitor, "that's good to know. I got these today so I'll be able to listen in on Frieza's men. The official story is that Frieza's alive and I was little more than a snack for him, so I'm going to take advantage of the situation for the next little while."

"Oh god..." Bulma tensed, "be careful. Goku would be upset if he knew you were hurting people..."

"Please," he sniffed, "Kakkarot should be more concerned with his damn kid than with what I'm up to. I do what I need to do in order to survive, Bulma, and don't you ever forget that!"

"Even if it involves stealing jewelry from your hostess..." muttered Bulma.

Vegeta growled low in his throat, the first proper growl he'd let loose in what felt like years. "I'll pay you back someday, if the pieces mean that much to you. Besides, aren't you rich? Just buy some new crap to wear. I have to go. Good-bye, Bulma." He terminated the connection and started pacing the ship again, his mind racing. Did Bulma really want him to return in the future, or was she just offering him platitudes? She hadn't been as upset as he'd suspected she would be, in fact, she seemed more concerned for his well-being than anything else.

Something deep inside him almost felt badly for Bulma, knowing her boyfriend was already with another woman. She'd mentioned him often and seemed quite infatuated with him.

"Fake tits. That's just..." Vegeta spread his fingers wide and held them six inches above his pectorals, trying to imagine what she'd described, "...vulgar."

* * *

For the next eight days, Vegeta travelled through space with no real destination in mind, training for up to ten hours straight and sleeping at least eight hours every day. Bulma called him once more, on the sixth day, but he ignored her call.

When he awoke on the ninth day, Vegeta decided to look out the window and spotted planets that looked oddly familiar. He went to the console and realized he was deep in PTO territory. Why hadn't anybody intercepted him?

_Maybe they're too preoccupied with pretending everything is normal to bother with one little ship..._

He went to the fridge and realized he was down to a jar of salsa and two apples. He set the coordinates for Planet 56, a small, cool planet with two moons, a distant sun, and an atmosphere that was very similar to Earth's.

"ESTIMATED TIME OF ARRIVAL... TWENTY EIGHT MINUTES."

"Ha! I knew this place looked familiar. I can get things to eat there. Maybe even sleep somewhere else for the night. Better figure out what I'm going to barter with..." Vegeta went downstairs to his sleeping area and pulled his gym bag from under his bed and unzipped it.

Planet 56 had more to do, and therefore more people to interact with. There was always a risk he'd be caught, but it was very possible that he had the highest power level on the planet and any calls for help wouldn't be acknowledged in time.

Vegeta went into the side compartment and looked at his vials. He read the labels and found three that would be useful on the planet: liquid CX-980 (a dissociative substance frequently used to drug unsuspecting victims in crowded nightclubs), a vial filled with miniscule tablets containing a strong stimulant, and a potent powdered anaesthetic that PTO soldiers called "White Aura".

He looked through the jewelry he'd stolen. The first piece he examined was the tiny arrow, which was meant to be hung on a thin length of chain. He found the thin gold chain at the very bottom of the side compartment and slid its flat end through the tiny loop on the arrow, clasped the ends together and held it up for examination. The piece was so delicate and beautiful and after looking at it for several minutes Vegeta heaved a sigh and put it back in his gym bag.

"I can't part with that stupid necklace! Damn it, Vegeta..." he buried his face in his palms and fought the urge to scream, "get your shit together. Use one of the fucking rings, you fool."

Upstairs, the computer initiated a countdown to landing. Vegeta pulled one of the rings and the thick gold chain out of the bag, zipped it shut and shoved it back under his bed, and put everything into the pocket of his windbreaker. He took his blue scarf and wrapped it around his head (the sensation of his hair flattening down around his head and brushing against the back of his neck was very strange) and loosely around his mouth and neck. Revealing his nose and eyes was less likely to arouse suspicion, he reasoned.

His ship came to a stop. "DESTINATION REACHED. THANK YOU FOR TRAVELING WITH CAPSULE CORPORATION. HAVE A NICE DAY!"

* * *

Seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and plate of fresh fruit, Bulma flipped through an online jewelry catalogue on her tablet, searching for some new rings to order. She found herself missing her lunches with Vegeta, even if they were sometimes awkward and the Saiyan's table manners were occasionally lacking. She missed his bone-dry sense of humour and even missed the way he suddenly announce he needed to resume training.

"Bulma, honey," Mrs. Briefs came into the kitchen with an armful of fresh-cut flowers, "Yamcha's waiting outside for you. He seems pretty upset... maybe you should go talk to him?"

The engineer looked up from her tablet and immediately asked herself how Vegeta would have reacted to Yamcha's return. "Okay, Mom. I'll go see him."


	15. Dive Bar

Bulma went out to the deck, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag before finally acknowledging Yamcha's presence. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"Did you come back because you regret your actions, or did you come back because you're broke?"

Yamcha winced. He'd never heard Bulma speak with such sharpness, with such coldness in her voice. The warrior shook his head gently and stared at his shoes, unsure of how to reply.

"I came back because I feel like an idiot, and I wanted to apologize to you, Bulma. It wasn't right of me to speak like that..."

"No, it wasn't!" She snapped.

"I really care about you, Bulma, and when you told me that you'd let Vegeta stay here for all those months, I feared for your safety and freaked out. It was an overreaction."

"No kidding! So, what about that "Candi" woman? Where have you been staying this entire time?"

The warrior shot Bulma a sheepish smile and returned his gaze to his feet. "A cheap hotel. And Candi wasn't interested in me after she learned I no longer play baseball, so I deleted her information from my phone."

"Ah, so she was a groupie..." Bulma took a final drag from her cigarette before depositing the butt into an ashtray on the glass patio table, "guess she wasn't the challenging type, huh?"

"You have every right to be pissed at me, Bulma. I'm sorry for how I spoke to you and I'm sorry that I made assumptions re-"

"You accused me of having sex with Vegeta... are you serious with that nonsense? Like I said before, he didn't even lay a finger on me. Vegeta, he's just... well, he's like a weird friend of mine, and believe me when I say that I know how crazy that sounds! I'm going to stay in touch with him, seeing as he took the ship I built, but that doesn't mean I'm going to try and seduce him or anything. When he returns, I want you to treat him like any other guest. I'd like to put this incident behind us now. Why don't we go out tonight and grab dinner somewhere fun?"

"Now you're speaking my language, babe!" Yamcha wrapped his arms around Bulma and kissed her cheek.

* * *

Planet 56 had gone downhill since Vegeta's last visit in his late teen years. When he landed ten kilometres outside the planet's central hub of trade and communication, the reduced light pollution actually worried Vegeta. Clearly the planet had lost priority status and the once-gleaming buildings were already dingy as he flew in and landed a few blocks from the city's core. Despite the downturn, the streets of Economic Zone 56 were crowded with soldiers, citizens, and tradespeople.

"Damn it, I'm hungry..." Vegeta muttered to himself as he ducked into a narrow alleyway. He re-adjusted his headscarf so his entire face was revealed but his hair (and hairline) were still concealed. The smell of fryer grease from a nearby restaurant drifted through the alley and the Saiyan's stomach rumbled angrily.

_No time to eat yet. I need to get up-to-date information..._

Vegeta knew of a popular nightclub on Planet 56 called Sevn. It was a well-known, popular nightspot with PTO soliders, and therefore the chances of it still being open were fairly high. It took forty minutes of wandering through the dim, dirty city to find it, but the throb of bass-heavy electronic music soon drew the Saiyan closer and closer.

Not only was Sevn still in business, but it was still popular with PTO soldiers. Six soldiers hung around outside the doors, smoking cigarettes and talking very loudly. Vegeta felt his anger starting to rise at the sight of them.

"Hey, short-ass!" A tall, lean soldier with purple skin and yellow hair, clad in black leggings and armour, shoved Vegeta aside as he approached the door, "this ain't some tourist tavern! Get outta here!"

Vegeta swung around and a clenched fist made contact with soldier's jaw, shattering it and knocking several sharp teeth out of his small mouth. His scouter flew off his head and landed in the street, breaking apart into several pieces. The soldier began to wail in agony, blood and saliva pouring from his slack mouth, and he dropped to his knees and started to search for his missing teeth on the sidewalk.

Five scouters beeped and chirped, warning their wearers that the figure before them had a power level of at least 35,000 and rising.

"Anybody else?" The Saiyan eyed the five standing soldiers, lips pressed into a grimace and nostrils flaring as he took several deep breaths and felt his conscience slide into that blank space Frieza had encouraged him to find and rely on decades before.

The soldiers backed away. "We d-d-didn't recognize you..."

"You," Vegeta pointed at a pig-like man with large tusks and mottled orange skin, "do you have a payment card on you?"

"Y-y-yeah... you want it?"

"Do you wish to continue living?"

The orange-skinned soldier handed a silver card to Vegeta, his meaty hands shaking so violently from terror that he almost dropped it in the process.

"Your comrade is in shock," Vegeta side-stepped the growing puddle of blood and drool on the pavement and ignored the whimpering figure a foot away, "take him to a medical center and don't come back here."

The soldiers immediately obeyed and took off, carrying their barely-conscious comrade. Vegeta turned around and went inside the nightclub, fully immersed in the detached head-space he'd learned to use as a child.

Slow night, Vegeta noted as he scanned the club and counted perhaps forty patrons, but that's probably a good thing. Less chance of a massacre.

Sevn had gone downhill. The bar and light system hadn't been replaced since Vegeta had last seen the place more than fifteen years prior. The clientele, however, remained the exact same: PTO soldiers and prostitutes.

The first place Vegeta went was the washroom to discover it was still covered in vulgar graffiti and questionable stains, with yellowing light bulbs in wire cages and a filthy stone sink. It was utterly deserted, usually a bad sign in regards to cleanliness. He snarled when he caught his reflection in the wall-to-ceiling mirror set behind the sink, spotting blood on his windbreaker. He tore the garment off, removed the contents of its pockets, and vaporized the thin jacket. He looked at his reflection again and ran his tongue over his teeth.

_Fuck it, time to be brazen. If they recognize me, they recognize me. Disguises will get me nowhere fast._

He pulled off his scarf and looped it around his waist, creating a small pouch against his hip to carry his items. The Saiyan felt rather odd in his outfit consisting of blue leggings, white T-shirt, white boots, and blue scarf-turned-belt, but it would have to do until he could get some intact armour and fresh clothing.

A young soldier walked into the washroom, recognized the petite man at the sinks as _the_ Vegeta, and stopped in his tracks. Vegeta's gaze moved from the mirror to the terrified soldier, who didn't know what to do next and remained frozen in place with his jaw clenched tight and eyes wide open.

"Your clothes and armour; give them to me," Vegeta motioned at the soldier's set of armour and came closer.

"T-trade for yours?" The soldier nervously offered.

"Strip."

The soldier pulled off his gloves and kicked off his boots, pulled the armour over his head and set it on the floor. He peeled his thermal top and leggings off and set each item on the sink, careful to avoid any spots of water. He started to pull down his underwear when Vegeta shook his head.

"Good. Put your hands on your head and turn to face the wall."

The terrified soldier once again did what he was told without resisting. Vegeta could see his legs shaking.

"Don't piss yourself, boy," barked Vegeta as he took off his clothes, "the floors are already bad enough in here!"

The Saiyan was back into formfitting thermal gear and armour in under a minute and immediately started to feel more like himself again. He tucked his vials and gold into a small pocket located in the right shoulder and once again looked himself over in the mirror.

"Now that's more like it! Here's your new clothing, soldier. Once you're dressed, you leave through the fire exit and don't come back."

Vegeta left without waiting for a response from the soldier. As he moved towards the bar, the music continued to throb but many soldiers stopped speaking and watched the Saiyan in utter disbelief as he hopped on a stool and scanned the selection of alcohol available at the bar.

He ordered a bottle of beer before acknowledging two stunned soldiers to his right. "So, what exactly are you looking at?"

"You're Vegeta... aren't you?"

"In the flesh," the Saiyan continued to look at the different liquor bottles and sipped his beer, "not looking for a fight, though. That said, if you want to die, challenge me tonight."

Slowly, the level of conservation rose again and almost everybody made a point of giving Vegeta a very wide berth. After spending fifteen minutes at the bar, a soldier who recognized Vegeta and recalled working with him some ten years prior approached.

"Let's get a booth, Vegeta. There is so much we need to talk about," the soldier stood to Vegeta's left and gave a slow nod to the Saiyan when he looked up from his beer. He was nearly seven feet tall, with silky green hair pulled back into a long ponytail, soft violet skin, and large blue eyes. His nose was straight and narrow, chin noble and strong, cheekbones high and well-defined.

Vegeta recognized the soldier as Jabuka, a veteran of the PTO and somebody he had worked with on a few high-security deliveries and assassinations in his early twenties. He seemed to recall Jabuka having a power level similar to Cui's and had once lost a sparring match against the older soldier. Although the two had nothing in common and rarely spoke while working together, Vegeta considered Jabuka a decent, fairly intelligent comrade. He accepted the invitation and followed Jabuka to a booth at the back of the club.

"I can't believe it," Jabuka looked Vegeta up and down through narrowed eyes and sensed something about him was different, "you're alive and well, and I've been under the impression that you've been dead for more than eight months."

"Eight months? That long, huh? The slouches on Ardeheb just said I'd been killed by Frieza."

"Ardeheb?! What were you doing on that hell hole?"

The Saiyan shrugged. "What have you been up to, Jabuka? You look well."

"Same old, same old. Deliveries and the occasional assassination. It's not the most exciting work, but the pay is good and the schedule's easy. I'm more interested in what you've been doing. Let's be honest, Vegeta, you don't give a damn about what I've been doing for the last ten years. Don't bullshit me or try to make me feel easy about you being on this planet when you were supposedly killed. Something's up and I want to know what."

"Fair enough," Vegeta drained his beer and flagged a waitress, "just what exactly would you like to know?"

Jabuka removed his scouter and dropped it behind the booth. "For starters: how are you still alive?"

"Luck and skill."

The handsome soldier accepted Vegeta's response. "Where have you been hiding?"

The waitress approached. Vegeta ordered another beer for himself and pointed at Jabuka, who asked for a potent fruit-flavoured spirit on ice. He produced the payment card he'd taken from the soldier at the door and tapped it against the sensor hooked to the waitresses' belt.

"Who says I've been hiding? I've been travelling, interacting with all sorts of interesting people, picking up some new tricks. You know, all the fun stuff." Vegeta's lopsided smirk grew as he spoke.

"Cut the crap, Vegeta," Jabuka scowled at the Saiyan and unconsciously started to play with the end of his ponytail.

Vegeta laughed at Jabuka's annoyance. "I'll be perfectly honest, Jabuka, I'm out of the loop too. I was told that Frieza's alive and well, and that he killed me and ate my heart. I was also told that Frieza's en-route to some "unknown" planet in search of treasure."

The soldier nodded at Vegeta. "That's the story... but I get the feeling that you know more."

"I might," Vegeta pulled his beer off the tray as the waitress arrived at their booth, "but why should I tell you?"

Jabuka sniffed his drink and set it down on the low circular table between them. "You were always hard to deal with, Vegeta... how's Cui? Didn't he join your team for a while?"

"Cui's dead."

"What?!"

Vegeta's responded by shrugging and taking a long sip of beer. He set the beer on the table and pulled out his vial of stimulants. He wiggled the vial at Jabuka before twisting it open and placing two tiny pills on his tongue.

"Still into feeling fast, eh Vegeta?"

"I'm even faster now, Jabuka," Vegeta took another sip of beer and swallowed the pills, wondering how quickly they'd take to kick in on an empty stomach, "but it has nothing to do with these pills and everything to do with constant training and improvement. I just want to have some fun tonight. You want some?"

"Thanks, but I'll stick to liquor. What happened to Cui? I mean, when did he die? Who killed him?!"

"I killed him almost six months ago. His biggest mistake was following me around."

The violet skinned soldier couldn't believe what he was hearing! How could Vegeta have possibly killed Cui when the Saiyan had once been incapable of even besting him in a sparring session?

"Unbelievable... if what you are saying is true, then you've grown very strong, Vegeta."

"I don't lie. Heard from Dodoria lately, Jabuka?"

"No."

"That's because Dodoria's dead."

Jabuka felt his stomach start to clench. Sweat prickled the skin along his hairline.

"What about Zarbon? Any news about him?" Vegeta continued, keeping his eyes locked on Jabuka as he took another sip of beer. The Saiyan's stare was as chilling as Jabuka had remembered, and the soldier was almost too frightened to tell Vegeta that he hadn't heard a thing.

"Zarbon's dead too. Blew a hole in his stomach."

Neither of them said anything for many minutes. The music continued to blare through ageing speakers and the din of conversation and cigarette smoke drifted through the air.

Finally, Jabuka found the courage to speak: "I knew that story about your death seemed odd. But did you really abandon your mission? I found out you were assigned to purge Ahdar with Raditz and Nappa..."

"Oh yeah, they're dead too. Thanks for reminding me." Vegeta felt his pulse quicken and his hunger started to subside.

Jabuka nearly choked on his liquor. "What?! Holy shit, you must be joking!"

Vegeta laughed at Jabuka's shocked expression and stretched out across his wide seat. "Raditz was killed by his amnesiac brother and a Namekian on a very distant planet well outside PTO boundaries, and I dispatched Nappa after he suffered a serious spinal injury."

Another long stretch of silence passed. Jabuka was certain that his life would be over within a few hours. "What are really you doing here, Vegeta?"

"I'm looking for somebody, but more specifically, I'm on the planet in the hopes that I can get some food to stock my ship for at least two or three weeks."

"You have a ship? With living facilities on board and everything?"

"It's designed for one person, but yes."

"You'd have to get to a food distributor," suggested Jabuka, "there are some in this city, but I can't tell you if they're open at this hour."

"That's fine. I can wait."

"Do you want another drink, Vegeta?"

Vegeta quickly got to his feet and took Jabuka's empty glass. "I insist on buying the next round, Jabuka. It's been nice catching up with you. Same thing as before?"

"Yeah... please." Jabuka looked at Vegeta with a raised brow.

"I'll be back."

Vegeta returned to the bar and asked for two glasses of the spirit Jabuka had been drinking. "Make them both doubles!" He called to the bartender. Back turned to the bar, he reached into the pocket inside his armour and found the vial of powdered White Aura. He popped the cap open with his right thumb, dumped a little into the palm of his left hand, shut the vial and tucked it back into his pocket. He turned around in time to see the bartender set the drinks down on the bar, and quickly dumped the powder into one of the drinks as he picked them up.

The Saiyan returned to the booth, swinging his hips and swirling the glasses in time to the music, and slid the tampered drink to Jabuka. He sat back down and raised his glass. "I propose a toast, Jabuka! Here's to meeting old comrades and enjoying their company. I am so glad you approached me tonight."

Reluctantly, Jabuka raised his glass and clinked his against Vegeta's. He took a sip of his drink.


	16. The Warning

Jabuka watched in disbelief as Vegeta finished half his liquor in a single gulp and slammed the glass down on the table.

"Easy there, Vegeta... you aren't twenty one any more."

"Eat me, Jabuka. This is good stuff, and besides, I'm only thirty one."

"Which supposedly is still very young for you Saiyans..."

"Precisely! Are you still working with a team, Jabuka?"

"No," Jabuka took another sip of his liquor, "working on my own suits me just fine. Why should I split my pay with anybody else when I've proven time and time again that I don't need any help?"

Vegeta nodded in agreement. "I like how you think. I just wish it were easier to do purges on my own. Weren't you intent on joining the Ginyu Force at one point?"

Jabuka started to crack up laughing at the mention of the flamboyant group of mercenaries. "Ah, don't remind me! I did in fact audition about eight years ago, but they said I didn't have the "it factor" to be a member."

"You must have been crushed," Vegeta rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, trying to feel his pulse. His body was starting to feel warm. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck.

"Didn't you want to try out too, Vegeta? I seem to recall you keeping tabs on the Ginyus for at least a year."

"Hey! I kept tabs on them because I wanted to figure out their individual weaknesses. That was before they had, uh, what's his name? Guldo... he's the short one," Vegeta made a point of mentioning Guldo in the present tense, "my thinking back then was that if I singled out the weakest member, I'd kill them in a sparring session and they'd have to accept me as a replacement. Of course, that didn't happen... I actually auditioned about six years ago. On a whim."

"Of course you did. What was their reason for turning you down?"

"The official reason is that I was too short and not good-looking enough to join. What a ton of crap! I'm better looking than all of those fools."

Jakuba shrugged. Vegeta wasn't an ugly man, but he wasn't conventionally attractive either. "I haven't heard from the Ginyus in a long time. Probably on some top-secret, high priority mission."

"You don't say..." Vegeta looked up at the ceiling and pursed his lips.

Jabuka took another small sip of his liquor and started to feel very unsettled. He got the feeling that Vegeta was playing dumb in regards to what he really knew about the Ginyu Force.

The Saiyan was letting his head roll from side to side; a classic sign that he was under the influence, thought Jabuka, clearly he hasn't matured whatsoever.

Finally: "I think you know something about the Ginyus, too. Don't you, Vegeta? Your smirk gives you away..."

The Saiyan cracked up laughing. His pupils were dilated and his cheeks were starting to get flushed. "Who says I know anything about them? I don't give a damn about the Ginyus."

Jabuka glared at Vegeta through squinted eyes and shook his head in disapproval. "You haven't changed at all, Vegeta. About a year ago, before the story that you were killed by Frieza started to circulate, I heard you went totally insane and were suffering from delusions."

"Crazy is as crazy does," Vegeta drained his glass of liquor and flagged the waitress again.

Feeling a bit competitive with the petite Saiyan, Jabuka downed the rest of his drink in a single gulp and told Vegeta to buy him another one.

_Perfect. He's going to be real compliant before long. Another drink should do it._

Once again, Vegeta ordered two double portions of the fruit-flavoured spirit on ice. He took another stimulant pill to combat the effects of the alcohol, a move that made Jabuka shake his head with disapproval and he warned Vegeta that somebody was eventually going to take advantage of the Saiyan when he was too intoxicated to know what was going on.

"Vegeta, you are opening yourself up to being taken advantage of. It's only a matter of time before you encounter an enemy that you cannot defeat. At the rate you're going, you'll be killed in a bar fight or somebody's going to start stalking you and will wait until you take one of your binges too damn far before closing in on you."

"Mm, like Cui? Why do you even care, Jabuka? It's not like we're close friends or anything. I'm much, much more powerful than I was when we worked together all those years ago, and I'm only getting stronger with each passing day. There is nobody who can defeat me now."

The handsome soldier mirrored Vegeta's smirk. "You may consider yourself confident, but I think you're just arrogant, Vegeta, and you've always been _very_ arrogant. You bite off far more than you can chew and have only managed to survive for this long due to your sheer dumb luck."

"Excuse me, but I do believe I said that my survival was the result of luck _and_ skill..."

"Sooner or later you're going to meet your match, Vegeta, and you will die horribly. It may not even be a person that kills you..."

"Oh, I've already died once, Jabuka. Didn't go to Hell, though..." Vegeta leaned back in his seat and raised his glass in a mock toast to Jabuka's warning.

"Maybe those rumours about you being delusional had some truth to them after all..." Jabuka started to take larger sips of his drink. Suddenly, a cold numbness seemed to bubble up in his stomach and spread through his torso second by second.

Ohhhh shit, thought Jabuka, eyes flickering back and forth between Vegeta and his glass.

"Frieza did in fact kill me," Vegeta leaned across the table to take a close look at Jabuka's pupils as they started to constrict, "but even Hell didn't know how to handle me. I literally rose out of my own grave when I was revived. And, for the record, only Captain Ginyu is still alive, and he's wisely chosen to go into retirement. You'll never see or hear from him again."

The glass slipped from Jabuka's fingers and shattered on the floor as he realized the numbness was spreading into his limbs.

"Feeling alright, Jabuka? Let's go to your place," Vegeta rose from the booth and pulled Jabuka from his seat. Unable to fight back, Jabuka struggled to keep his balance as the Saiyan dragged him towards the fire exit.

"Wait, Vegeta... the alarm will sound..." Jabuka heard his speech slurring and knew he was doomed. He could barely control his legs as they reached the door.

"Nah," the Saiyan kicked the door open, "the fire alarm should have been replaced along with the crappy sound system at least ten years ago."

* * *

"Who ordered the five alarm chicken wings?" A chubby server with pink hair styled in braids and a straw cowboy hat set a large circular tray loaded with food and drinks on the table.

"Me!" Yamcha pulled the basket right off the tray and resisted the urge to dig in immediately, "I hope you brought extra dipping sauce, miss!"

Jimmy's Texas Grill was one of Yamcha's favourite restaurants. It was huge, brightly lit, featured huge booths and dozens of televisions all turned to sports. Best of all, the food was inexpensive and the portions were massive. Bulma wasn't very fond of the restaurant, but she wanted to make Yamcha happy after they'd decided to make up yet again.

Over dinner and drinks, Yamcha told Bulma about his training on King Kai's planet and his strengthened friendship with Tien and Chiaotzu. He'd worked hard and felt confident about everything he'd learned from King Kai, although he also admitted that he wondered what Goku would be like when he returned to Earth.

"I wonder when he'll return period. But I don't think Goku would say he'd return if he wasn't absolutely certain he'd be coming back," said Bulma, picking at the rice and beans on her plate. She'd ordered grilled chicken but hadn't enjoyed her dinner very much.

"While I hate to bring up him up, when do you think Vegeta will come back? You said he'd be coming back too, right?"

Bulma nodded and pushed her plate aside. "If he monitors and limits the amount of power he uses on-board, he'll have enough fuel for about twenty months."

"Do you really think he'll come back?"

"If Goku plans to come back, then Vegeta will follow... but enough about him! You wanna get dessert, Yamcha?"

* * *

After it took twenty minutes to flag down a taxi and ten minutes of repeatedly asking the drugged soldier where he lived, Vegeta managed to drag Jabuka into his small, tidy apartment and dumped his limp body on the kitchen floor. The tall solider moaned and whimpered as Vegeta stepped over his numb body and started to search through the cupboards. Every thought Jabuka tried to develop slipped away and felt as though his brain had become completely detached from his body.

"You'd better have some food in here, I swear..." the Saiyan opened the refrigerator and found a selection of fresh meat, fruit, exotic milk products, and several bottles of juice, mineral waters, and wine.

He sat on Jabuka's couch, turned on the television and switched it to a news station, and started eating. Over the course of an hour, Vegeta consumed four raw steaks sourced from an unknown creature, more than two pounds of fruit, and a bottle of sparkling water. The more the Saiyan ate, the more grounded he started to feel.

"B-b-b... bbbvvveg...e...da...vvvv..." Jabuka tried to roll onto his back. He started to cough and gag.

The Saiyan rose from the couch and pulled Jabuka up by the shoulder strap of his armour and dragged him to the couch Vegeta had just occupied. "You're in for a rough day, friend," he lay Jabuka on his side and arranged his limbs and chin so his throat would remain unobstructed, "and you may not even remember our meeting. Even better that you seem to have left your scouter at that dump of a nightclub! Jabuka, where is your payment card?"

"Arm..rrrrr..." he slurred, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Vegeta pulled the chest armour off his former comrade and found the card in a chest pocket. Jabuka was barely conscious and drooling.

"Where is your tablet?"

The tall soldier's response was unintelligible. He's probably too messed up right now, Vegeta reasoned, I'll give him a couple of hours to start metabolizing the drug. In the meantime, I can find the stupid tablet myself.

Vegeta went into Jabuka's bedroom and found the tablet on his bedside table. He sat on the bed and found the application to access Jabuka's bank account. After submitting the number on the card, he discovered his old comrade had over two million credits to his name. Not bad for somebody who does solitary work, thought Vegeta. He checked the card belonging to the pig-like soldier and found there was forty five thousand credits available.

The urge to check his own bank account was nearly unbearable, but Vegeta resisted for the fear that logging in would trigger a reaction and alert authorities that he was on Planet 56.

He took the tablet and bank card into the kitchen and found a small knife in a wooden block on the spotless counter. Carefully, he cut around the silver chip in the centre of the card until it was loose and he popped it out with his thumbs. He put the chip in a small pocket on his right shoulder and threw the damaged card in the trash disposal.

For the next two hours, Vegeta kept an eye on Jabuka while watching the news channel and munched on fruit and a box of sweets he found in the refrigerator. There was no news about Frieza's health or any rogue soldiers. Vegeta considered it a good sign and relaxed.

The sky was starting to grow light when Jabuka came to and managed to speak (somewhat) clearly: "...whatsh going on?"

"You said there were food distributors in the city. Where?"

"Eassht..." Jabuka shook a little, trying to move his body. He would be paralysed from the shoulders down for another six hours and wouldn't regain any sensation in his legs for another day.

"You should be able to walk normally late tomorrow. I didn't want to kill you, but I was certain you weren't going to give me your money voluntarily, so I figured this was a good way to get what I wanted without resorting to violence." Vegeta took a huge pack from the front closet and threw some beverages and all the packaged food inside. He went into the washroom and took the First Aid items and medicines, and then went out to the small balcony, left the sliding glass door and screen wide open, and flew away.


	17. Unpleasant Dream

With the huge refrigerator, freezer, and the cupboards stuffed with enough food to last at least three weeks, Vegeta felt a huge sense of satisfaction as he took off from Planet 56 and once again chose not to set any coordinates right away.

He had spent close to eight thousand credits on food alone. Vegeta spotted an impressive selection of wine, but limited his selection to six bottles. The sheer amount of food he purchased forced Vegeta to request the workers at the food distribution centre to pack the food into huge canvas packs he could strap on to his back. It took three high-altitude flights (it was cold enough to make Vegeta wish he'd kept his scarf) to get all the food, but he moved so quickly that it was all done before the street lamps were turned off for the daylight hours.

Once Vegeta unpacked the food he actually paid for, took the canvas bag he'd filled at Jabuka's apartment into his small living room and took a seat on the couch. The bag was filled with selections that could be best described as _gourmet._ The Saiyan snacked on roasted nuts as he looked through a variety of fruit preserves, cheese, dried meats, jars of pickled vegetables, fruit juices and two small bottles of the same liquor he'd had at Sevn the night prior.

Vegeta had also taken a First Aid kit containing healing sprays, bandages, painkillers, antibacterial soaps, basic surgical tools, a packet of single-use syringes, and a vial of local anaesthetic. He hummed with approval and leaned back in his two-seat couch.

"I'm going to keep eating like the royalty I am, regardless of where I am!"

The stimulants were starting to wear off, and Vegeta decided it would be best if he wound down until he could sleep for a few hours and let his body recover. He scrolled through the selection of films and programmes on the hard drive yet again and settled on a film about a creature that drank human blood and avoided sunlight.

**"INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL..."**

Vegeta paused the film and pressed the accept button on the entertainment console. A flat-screen monitor descended from the ceiling and switched on.

"Good morning! Did I interrupt you?" Bulma waved to the camera. She was in a loose t-shirt that hung off one of her shoulders and a pair of black shorts, sitting cross-legged in a high-backed leather office chair.

"Heh, good morning to you too, Bulma. It was early morning on the planet I just left. You didn't really interrupt me... I'm just trying to wind down. Some film about a human-looking man who drinks blood... it's alright..."

"Guess you could say I have great timing! Where did you go? What have you been up to?"

"Planet 56. I did a grocery run and had a few drinks with an old friend at an old haunt I spent too much time at in my twenties."

Bulma knew it was likely a good idea to accept his answer and not ask about what he'd really been up to. "What's with the getup?"

"Needed some armour, so I got some armour. Anyway, why did you call me?" Vegeta looked in the waxed paper pouch for any remaining nuts and found he was all out. He immediately tore into a pouch of jerky to his left and continued eating.

"I wanted to see how you were doing, but I also called to talk to you about monitoring the fuel levels on the ship so you don't wind up stranded somewhere."

"I'll call you back later," he said through a mouthful of jerky, "I'm going to bed soon."

Bulma looked at Vegeta's image on the monitor. He seemed a bit out of it, his face was pale and looked greasy. His eyes seemed bloodshot. "Sure thing, Vegeta. You look kind of wired on something. Are you alright?"

"I'll feel a lot better after some sleep. Good-bye."

The Saiyan disconnected from the call before Bulma could respond and the monitor rose back up into the ceiling. He pulled off his boots, gloves, and armour, turned off the television and all of lights before turning in to bed. He was thrilled to be curled up in a warm, comfortable, safe spot.

_Vegeta walked down a corridor kept so cold that breath left his body as puff of steam. The floors were made of cream-coloured marble, the walls looked like carved violet glass. Cape wrapped protectively around his body, Vegeta moved swiftly, knowing it was unwise to stop for even a second when enemies could be hiding in the shadows._

_The corridor seemed to dissolve around him and Vegeta found himself standing in a windowless, circular room with cream walls and floor of black onyx shot with bands of royal purple, perhaps four or five feet away from a massive egg that appeared to float a meter above the floor._

" _Come, child," a sickening, reedy voice that made the Saiyan's skin erupt in goose-pimples reverberated through the space, "tell me about your training session."_

_The egg slowly rotated counter-clockwise until Vegeta found himself face-to-face with Frieza in his base form, curled up with his tail draped across his slender, scaly legs, with a large glass of wine in his left hand and chin resting in his right palm._

" _Sixteen Saibamen destroyed within an hour, Lord Frieza. I am refining a psychic shock-wave attack that is capable of disemboweling a Saibaman from four metres away. I grow more efficient with each passing day. I wish to go into combat now! Why must I wait?"_

_Cackling laughter like seemed to turn Vegeta's blood to ice echoed through the chamber. "Ah, Vegeta! You are so eager, but you are still so young! Why push the issue now? Another year of training would do you well before you enter the life of a Planet Trade soldier."_

" _But Lord Frieza, haven't I proven my strength already? Nappa cannot kill that many Saibamen at a time! Raditz can only kill six in an hour, if he's lucky!"_

_Frieza extended a manicured hand and ran his icy fingers through Vegeta's hair and brushed a stray hair away from his eyes. The tyrant pinched the young Saiyan's cheek affectionately but the pressure he used bordered on painful. "We must first see to it that you harden your heart completely, Vegeta. You are not like the others- you are truly special. Vegeta, you are like a son to me, and I wish you see you return from the missions I will soon send you on. Be patient and use this time to grow even stronger."_

" _I wish to speak with my father before I enter combat, Lord Frieza."_

" _In good time, my boy..."_

Vegeta's eyes snapped open and he sat up in bed, discovering he was drenched in sweat and his heart was pounding. He switched on the bedside lamp and eyed his surroundings, confirming he was in his ship and he was all alone. When he glanced over at the alarm clock, Vegeta was surprised he'd slept for four hours.

He took a hot shower and changed out of the thermal gear he'd stolen from the soldier and into flannel drawstring pants and a loose black t-shirt. Still tired but on edge from his deeply unpleasant dream (he refused to call them nightmares) he went into the kitchenette and drank a bottle of fruit juice. Stomach rumbling, he unwrapped a portion of meat, sprinkled it with salt and pepper, and ate it raw. It was good, but meat always tasted best when it was at body temperature or room temperature, he decided.

After sleeping for another five hours, Vegeta finally felt like he'd returned to baseline and considered calling Bulma.

Do I really want to know how much fuel I have, he asked himself, maybe I should just keep going and pick up another ship if this one malfunctions...

He paced around the ship, turning light fixtures on and off and checking his wardrobe to make sure everything was as organized as he'd left it just a few hours prior. For the first time in many years, Vegeta started to thik about his younger brother. He'd never learned where Tarble had been sent, or if he'd even survived his journey through space.

_Even if he survived the journey, what are the chances he's out there and thriving? Slim to none. He's long gone, Vegeta, and you're never going to find him. Tarble is dead, along with Father, Nappa, Raditz, and everybody else. There's only one living Saiyan you may be capable of tracking down yet and he's the only one you should think about. Find Kakkarot and quit being sentimental over the sibling who probably forgot all about you, assuming he's even still alive!_

Vegeta sat down at the pilot's chair in front of the huge console and mentally prepared himself to call Bulma. He heaved a sigh and typed in her contact number.

**"OUTGOING VIDEO CALL... PLEASE WAIT WHILE CONNECTION IS ESTABLISHED..."**


	18. Calm Before A Storm

Bulma was sitting on her bed and painting her toenails when her computer monitor switched itself on and the connection signal rang in her speakers. She swung her legs across the mattress and hobbled over to her desk. She accepted the call and sat back in her chair.

"Hello there!" She waved to the camera when Vegeta's camera connected.

"I'm calling you back now," he said, voice a little raspier than normal, "what's going on?"

"How are you? You looked like hell when I called you this morning, Vegeta. I was a little worried, to be honest."

"Quit that at once- I don't need your pity. I just had a long night and drank too much. My friend was in even worse shape when I took off!" He barked a dry, bitter laugh.

"Uh huh," Bulma pulled her right leg up and rested her heel on the edge of her seat, "sounds like it. Well, you do look better-rested now. Anyway, the reason I called earlier today was to let you know that you have about eighteen months worth of fuel on-board, assuming you're letting the fuel cells recharge every once in a while by landing on a temperate planet with adequate sunlight for at least twelve hours. The amount of electricity you're using, plus how frequently you're using the gravity simulator, is going to affect the amount of fuel you have as well."

"Hang on- you said the fuel cells recharge, correct? If these fuel cells are capable of recharging, then why are you giving me this estimate of eighteen months?"

"The fuel cells can only be recharged so many times before they lose efficiency and become more prone to malfunction. If you're very careful about your power consumption and don't run the gravity simulator at high levels for hours every day, you may be able to push two years of travel, but I cannot make any guarantees for your safety." Bulma started to pick at the tissue she'd wound between her toes to keep them separate.

"So what you're telling me is that I have about one and a half Earth years to look for Kakkarot?"

"Pretty much. Whatever you're doing out there, Vegeta, just plan your journey accordingly. You can always monitor your fuel levels by accessing the "Settings" drop menu and looking for the icon with a blinking blue ring."

"Thanks for telling me that now and not ten months from now or something."

Bulma couldn't stop herself from asking Vegeta about his at least some of his intentions. "I don't mean to impose, Vegeta, but when do you suppose you'll return to Earth? Or will you?"

"I said I would return, Bulma. I am a man of my word."

"Just be careful... and please take care of yourself. You can always call us."

"Bulma, who are you talking to?" A softer male voice could be heard entering Bulma's bedroom before Yamcha appeared behind Bulma's chair. He looked into the camera and then at Vegeta, and finally gave a small wave. "Oh, h-hey, Vegeta."

"Hello," Vegeta gave Yamcha a small nod and watched as the warrior quickly disappeared out of sight once again, "did I frighten him, Bulma? Just reassure him that I can't do any harm from where I am right now!" That wicked grin spread across his face and he chuckled at the long-haired man's nervousness.

"Well, at least you've met Yamcha now. Give him a chance, alright? You know, I'm still processing the idea of you going to a bar and actually hanging out, Vegeta."

"Haven't I mentioned something about it before?"

"Yes, you did! And I still can't imagine you hanging out in a bar! Well, maybe an old, smelly saloon where a lot of fights break out... like in a Spaghetti Western! I just figured you were always on a mission or something."

The Saiyan's mouth curled into a disapproving frown and he shook his head. "I have some standards, you know! Give me at least a little credit, woman! It was a... you people call it a nightclub, but ours never really close. Just so you know, Saiyans enjoy a good time just as much, if not more, than most humans."

"Then Yamcha and I are going to take you out for a night on the town sometime, how about that? We'll buy all your drinks. And food. Oh, and by the way, my Mom says "Hi". She thinks you're funny."

"Very cute. But if you're trying to lure me back, it isn't going to work. I will be back, Bulma, but not for a while. Good bye."

Vegeta disconnected the call and the video on his end went dark. She hated it when he disconnected so abruptly and didn't give her the chance to say goodbye.

Bulma shut her laptop and went back to painting her toenails.

"Eugh, he seems like a real jerk, huh?" Yamcha sat on the end of Bulma's bed and shook his head in disapproval at how the Saiyan had behaved during the video call.

"He can be kind of blunt and intense," Bulma said, more focused on finishing her toenails than what Yamcha had to say, "just give him time to come around."

* * *

After close to fourteen hours of slowly regaining feeling in his body, Jabuka was finally able to roll off the couch, crawl to his sliding balcony door and push it shut. It took close to five minutes just to move the tempered glass door across its sliding track until he heard it click. Shivering from cold, the soldier slowly made his way into the bedroom, pulled himself into his bed, and made his way underneath the covers. Unable to yet connect his thoughts coherently, he passed out and would remain unconscious for another ten hours.

* * *

Ten days passed by uneventfully. Vegeta spent his time training for up to six hours at a stretch, sleeping, eating, watching a little television (he didn't know what to make of Earthling entertainment most of the time), and taking apart a scouter to wire into one of the on-board speakers so he'd have the option of listening to a live audio feed of PTO soldiers. He scanned different frequencies and disabled his outgoing communication line so there would be no chance of somebody picking up his voice or a few words from a television program broadcast in English.

On the eleventh day, Vegeta was in the middle of eating a tray of previously frozen game in a heavily-spiced sauce with mixed grains alongside when he picked up a conversation between two soldiers that surprised him. He set down his meal and turned up his speaker to hear them clearly.

"...other than that, things seem to be going alright. So, I heard the craziest rumour when I stopped at Sevn for a few drinks the other night." A smooth baritone voice filled the simulator and Vegeta's teeth were set on edge, anticipating what the soldier was going to say.

"This better be a good one, Dinja!" A soldier with a noticeable lisp replied.

"Just listen, Kivi, it's good, it's good! Okay, what I hear is that a few nights ago these patrol officers get off-duty and they go to Sevn for drinks. At some point in the night they go outside to get some fresh air when some short little fucker comes up wearing some mask or a scarf or somethin'. No armour or insignias or nothin'. Anyway, one of the dudes tells the short guy to screw off. _Bad idea_. This little guy flipped out and broke the dude's jaw, and when I say broke, I mean it was busted in like six or seven places broke. Missing tons of teeth now. Naturally, these patrol guys decide to leave the dude alone and get on out of there, 'cause maybe he's some upper-ranking guy wanting to stay on the down low, y'know?"

"Ooh, this is getting interesting! Know any more?"

"Oh yeah. Anyway, the little masked dude goes into the club. Some people say he just went inside to take a piss... but you'll never guess who showed at Sevn up a little while later!"

"I really have no idea, Dinja..."

"You ever heard of that soldier called "Vegeta", Kivi? Little guy with black hair that stood up, big eyes, tail, and a nasty temper?"

"Oh, come on! Vegeta's dead. I never met the guy, but every once in a while I hear that name, and lately I've been hearing about how he's dead. What was his deal, anyway? You know anything about him? Seems like he was... well, popular wouldn't be the right word at all..."

The soldier called Dinja began chuckling. "Aw, man, I heard he was some crazy little Saiyan who bragged about being a prince and leading purge teams before supposedly going nuts and being killed, but I guess the dude's still alive after all. No word on whether or not he's sane, but I'd say no. I even heard from somebody that he was overheard talking about killing Cui! Can you even imagine?!"

The soldier with the lisp started to laugh hysterically. Incensed, Vegeta turned off the speaker and made note of he frequency he was tuned to. He'd be checking in on those soldiers again and wanted to figured out where they were heading. How dare they laugh at the mention of his name!

It's time to give the PTO an update on Frieza and his cronies, thought Vegeta. He brought up a map of the galaxy, closed in on the area he was currently travelling through, and started to list off different planets he knew of in the area.

Unable to make up his mind, he returned to eating and ultimately decided he'd give it another day before settling on his next destination.


	19. Closing In

On the twelfth day of continuous travel, Vegeta tuned into the two soldiers called Dinja and Kivi and listened in on their conversations while eating dried fruit directly from the package. The Saiyan was pleased to discover he'd underestimated how much food he'd really purchased and figured he could easily last another nine or ten days before he would be required to land somewhere and find more food. He was starting to miss coffee and tried to think of anything similar he may have once tried. Nothing came to mind.

"Yo, Kivi. How 'bout we go to Planet 90 for a while? That mission sure paid decent, huh?"

"Not too bad for such a quick mission. What were you thinking of doing there?"

"I dunno, man. The place is frickin' huge. Let's check into one of them hotel suites that just opened up and take it from there. I'm gonna hit up Madam Red's, for sure."

"You're gonna leave the planet with a red dick if you go to that whorehouse!" The one called Kivi snapped at his partner. Vegeta laughed out loud when he heard that and only caught the tail end of Kivi's continuing remark, "...get a double room and take off separately."

The two soldiers remained silent for many seconds and Vegeta started to wonder if he'd lost the connection when the soldier called Kivi finally said: "Dinja, I just got the weirdest feeling in my gut..."

"You're probably feeling a bit cooped up in your pod, Kivi. Nothing's wrong. Go into stasis if you can't take another few hours. Let's land at Station 6- it's the biggest city on the planet and I hear it's a blast."

"Eh, you're probably right... I'm gonna go into stasis. See you when we land, brother! Remember, you owe me lunch since I saved you from falling into that crevice!"

"Sure thing, bruh, I'm gonna sleep too. And lunch anywhere you want. Night night."

Vegeta disconnected, leaned back in the pilot's chair, yawned contentedly, and then set the coordinates for Planet 90's Station 6. He'd been to Station 6 several times in his life and had occasionally spent his shore-leave on the planet. During his visits to Station 6, Vegeta rotated between a hotel suite, solitary meals at the best restaurants in Station 6, and a training chamber. He rarely saw his comrades during those times and they sometimes went for weeks without actually speaking. If Vegeta did see his comrades in the hotel room, they were usually passed out or with prostitutes.

Once again, Vegeta would find himself all alone in Station 6. This time, however, he was very much looking forward to spending some time in the city. He decided it would be best to land far away from the city gates and keep his ship deep in the wasteland surrounding the metropolis.

"Computer, how long until we reach Planet 90?"

"Estimated travel time is ten hours, seven minutes."

"Computer, set the ship to land approximately one hundred and fifty kilometers outside District 6."

"Confirmed."

Vegeta was set on packing a small bag before taking a nap when the familiar buzz of an incoming call rang through the ship. "INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VID-"

"Oh, you have to be kidding..." he accepted the call and started to speak before the video connection had been established. "Bulma? What's going on now?"

"Hi, Vegeta!" Mrs. Briefs' image popped up on the screen and she beamed at the camera. She appeared to be in the kitchen. She had her hair up and wore a periwinkle shift dress, pearl earrings, and sunny yellow apron.

The Saiyan was confused. He wasn't necessarily angry that Mrs. Briefs had apparently contacted him out of the blue, but he was surprised nonetheless. "Uh, hello? Where's Bulma? Did she need to speak with me?"

"Bulma's not here right now- she went out of town with Yamcha and won't be back until tomorrow. But I'll tell her you asked for her! I know you've been so busy with your travels, honey, but I've been baking all morning and just wanted to talk to somebody, so I called to check up on you!"

"Check up on me?" Vegeta felt his face growing hot.

"Just making sure you're doing alright, sweetheart. Are you eating well?"

He really had no idea why Mrs. Briefs insisted on calling him "honey" and "sweetheart" all the time; he wasn't entirely sure what she meant when she called him these things. "Uh- yes, Madam."

"Always so polite!" Mrs. Briefs' smile grew wider and she picked up a large pink bowl and started to mix something using a large wooden spoon. "Call me Bunny- I insist. And don't worry about being so formal! Have you been sleeping well? Bulma said the last time she called, you didn't look so good. Were you ill?"

Vegeta sighed. For whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to yell at Bunny, so he repeated his story about being up too late and drinking too much, struggling not to turn terse as he spoke to the woman.

"Your clothes look clean. Are you taking good care of yourself every day?"

"Yes, Mada- Bunny."

"We miss you. You know, I didn't get your sense of humour at first, but after a while you made me laugh, honey. My husband spends a lot of time golfing with the Namekians, but he still talks about you. I know Bulma misses you an awful lot..."

"She has her boyfriend."

Bunny gave Vegeta a tiny shrug. "You're right, she is with Yamcha, but I'm sure you know those two have been on and off again for years at this point. I really don't know how much longer those two can last... just between you and me, I'd love to see my daughter meet somebody a bit more mature. She isn't sixteen any more, you know!"

"Mm," Vegeta started to think about food again, "it's her life. What she does is of little consequence to me."

"See, that's exactly what I mean! You seem to be much more mature than Yamcha. How old are you, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan was certain he'd gone red. "Look, I need to go..." he went to disconnect but didn't press the button.

"Alright, Vegeta. You be careful out there, okay? And please come back soon."

"Good bye," Vegeta disconnected and turned away from the ship's control centre. He stared into nothing and lost track of time for many minutes until he suddenly regained a sense of where he was, shaking his head in surprise. A dreadful empty feeling ached in his chest, and his eyes began to sting with tears.

He suddenly recalled the peonies Mrs. Briefs had left on his desk.

"Those humans are persistent in their asking me to return to Earth. They're probably working together, trying to lure me back so I won't have any chance of coming upon Kakkarot as he trains and grows stronger... I need to stop talking to them unless it's a real emergency."

He went down into his living area, shut off the lights, and slept for five hours.

* * *

It took close to an hour to fly into Station 6, but Vegeta was reluctant to use his power lest he notify PTO soldiers that something was closing in and fast. The land surrounding Station 6 was dry, brutally hot during the day and near-freezing at night. Station 6 sourced its water from a huge freshwater lake hundreds of kilometres to the North, making it a rather valuable commodity. He carried the intact payment card plus the chip he'd taken from Jabuka's card, the thick gold chain, and five different vials with him.

The plan was to spend enough time in the bustling city that people began to notice him and started rumours through PTO communication systems. Vegeta also knew of a black market that specialized in forged documents (amongst many other things) and intended to pay it a visit.

"Hmm, maybe I should go to Madam Red's. It's been years..." he mused aloud as he approached the outskirts of the city.

The first place Vegeta went was a generic diner that catered to those looking for a decent and filling meal that didn't cost too much. He took a seat at the counter and signaled for a menu.

"What looks good, my man?" A waiter not much taller than the Saiyan with spiked yellow hair and a silver ring through his thick septum tapped his stylus on the cool acrylic counter.

"Number eight with double meat and extra greens. Herb tea to drink. Just put hot water in the pot and let me add the tea myself."

"You got it."

When the waiter returned with a stainless steel pot filled with boiling water and the tea leaves in a small cup on the side, Vegeta spent several minutes checking the leaves and figured they had to be harmless. He let the mixture brew for close to ten minutes before finally pouring a small amount into his cup.

It was refreshing, light-bodied, somewhat sweet, and produced a wonderful cooling sensation in his mouth and throat. He felt invigorated after his first cup and knew he wanted more right away.

"Number eight, double meat!" The waiter placed a huge blue and white bowl filled with springy thin noodles, piles of slow-roasted meat, pungent vegetables, and cooked greens, all topped with a fragrant broth and a drizzle of a very spicy red oil.

The food was so good that it made Vegeta feel at ease. Nobody seemed to notice who he was (and if they did, they very wisely chose not to say anything) and he was more than happy to listen to people conversing in Galactic Standard. He'd grown used to speaking English and while the language hadn't been a serious issue, it was so far-removed from what the two languages he'd spoken his entire life that it only exacerbated his feelings of isolation.

_Earth was a paradise... a deeply flawed paradise. Yes, I was reasonably safe, had all the food I could eat, a wealthy family that seemingly liked me for some totally bizarre reason, and a gravity chamber, but face it, Vegeta, you can't stay on Earth. Human hospitality made you feel good but it made you lose sight of who and what you are: you are a Saiyan, a prince, and a killing machine without remorse! Your mission is to track down Kakkarot and challenge him to a re-match. Go to a whorehouse and get your mind off that girl on Earth._

He swallowed the last of the broth and set the bowl down on the counter. The meal had been good, but he wondered how long he'd be able to go without eating again.

The waiter approached Vegeta. "That item's our biggest seller. Did you enjoy it?"

"Very much. I want another bowl."

Belly close to bursting after two huge bowls of meat and noodle soup and a pot of tea, Vegeta set off in search of the secret market where one could buy forged documents, exotic spirits, obtain the services of psychics, or find powerful narcotics.

It took close to two hours of walking through dim alleyways, eyeing suspicious side-doors, and asking young-looking, low-ranking soldiers for the best place to find "documents". The Saiyan was directed down an alley only five feet wide and was told to look for a a narrow steel door painted orange. Vegeta found he door and discovered it opened to a steep stone staircase that descended into a long, low hallway lit with flickering blue and red light bulbs.

"Oh, this isn't creepy at all..." he muttered. The hallway ended in another doorway.

**RING BELL AND WAIT FOR BUZZER BEFORE ENTERING**

He rang the bell. Fifty seconds passed before a sharp buzz nearly stung Vegeta's sensitive ears and he pushed the door open. He walked into a warmly-lit, air-conditioned apartment.

"Hello? Anybody in here?"

"Come on through! I'm in the office!" A woman's voice, low and smooth, called from somewhere at the far end of the apartment.

Vegeta ventured through the apartment and entered a small home office, crammed with computer monitors, scanning and copying equipment, printers, and two tall rotating bookshelves. Seated at the desk (which took up two walls of the room) was a very young woman more than six and a half feet tall with a willowy frame and large, thin hands, skin like alabaster, violet eyes, and closely-cropped silver hair. She wore a loose cream cardigan over a black thermal top, green leggings, and black boots.

"May I help you, friend?"

"Yes," Vegeta produced the intact card and the chip, "I was told you may be able to assist me with documents and bank cards. I'm hoping you know how to transfer the funds on these chips into a blank card or something similar."

The woman snapped her thin fingers together and nodded, understanding the request. "Oh! I call them "ghost cards" myself. Not the most frequent request, but I'd be more than happy to help you. I can have the job finished in about ninety minutes. My commission is fifteen percent of the total funds I am required to transfer."

The Saiyan quickly calculated the sum and figured she was asking for more than three hundred and thirty thousand credits. "No way! Forget it!"

"Mm, that's unfortunate. I'm the only one around here who can get the job done quickly and without detection..."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and sighed. "Get on with it, then. Greedy girl..."

"Alright. But now I'm going to ask for twenty percent, just for that last remark."

The Saiyan felt his temper flaring and he snarled at the woman, upper lip curling over his sharp teeth. "That's highway fucking robbery. Do you know who I am?"

The woman leaned over, maintaining eye contact with Vegeta, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on her desk. "You're Vegeta. Congratulations on not dying. I guess those reports were fabricated after all!"

"And yet you still intend to extort me?"

"Look," she placed a cigarette in between her lips, snapped her fingers and produced a small flame, "I've gotta make money just like everybody else. I can't fight you, and I know you could easily kill me. If you want to to kill me, then go ahead and do it, and best of luck finding a credible person who could make you a ghost card in this city."

Vegeta couldn't help but be impressed by her stoicism. "Twenty percent is a lot. I have a proposition: I'll give you twelve point five percent commission and this," he reached into his armour and fished out the thick gold chain, "to make me a ghost card. It's gold."

"Hold this!" She passed her cigarette to Vegeta and pulled the chain out of his hands, inspecting it closely. "It sure is gold! Very nice."

"Do we have a deal, woman?"

"Sure, man. We have a deal," she slipped the gold chain over her head and adjusted it around her neck, "and my name is Sahar. Since you're going to be here for a while, would you care for some tea? You seem wound up. And please, do take a seat."

* * *

Two hours later and short a stolen gold chain and close to three hundred and thirty thousand credits, Vegeta was back on the main streets of Station 6 with two copies of his ghost card. He kept one in his right shoulder pocket and the other in the left breast pocket- and the minute he was back on the ship it was going to be hidden somewhere safe.

The sun was setting and the city lit up with millions of multicoloured lights as the temperatures dropped. The beginnings of hunger combined with the cold compelled Vegeta to find Galactic Suites Inn, the upscale hotel where he'd stayed many times prior in his younger years.

Check-in went more smoothly than Vegeta had anticipated; the portly, ageing clerk at the tall marble service desk recognized the Saiyan on-sight and greeted him warmly, if not with some nervousness present in his voice. "Welcome back, sir. Good to see you are looking so well. Single bed with private bath, sir?"

"No. Give me a suite."

"Ah, expecting guests this evening, sir?"

"That's my business. How much for a suite?" Vegeta pulled out his card and started to tap it on the desk, growing impatient.

"We have a junior suite with bedroom, private bath, kitchen and bar, living area... it's five thousand credits per night."

"That will do." He passed the card to the clerk. The payment went through immediately. That girl knew what she was doing, thought Vegeta, maybe that commission was worth it...

The clerk handed Vegeta his key card and wished him a pleasant evening. "If there is any way I can be of assistance, sir, please do not hesitate to call me."

"Sure," Vegeta pocketed the key card and turned away from the clerk, "I'll keep that in mind." He moved swiftly through the opulent lobby towards the elevators and went to his room on the sixty-seventh floor.


	20. Night In Station 6, part I

Over dinner, Mrs. Briefs brought up her brief conversation with Vegeta earlier in the day. "You know, Bulma, he seems to be mature young man..."

"Mom!" Bulma shrieked through a mouthful of garlic bread.

"Just give him a chance when he's back. I noticed you two seemed to chat and hang out together an awful lot. Did I sense some chemistry there?"

The engineer sunk down in her chair and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, "I cannot believe we're having this conversation! For the last time, Vegeta and I are just friends, and right now I don't even know if we're friendly at this point! Please just give it a rest, Mom."

Mrs. Briefs conceded and looked out the kitchen window. "I wonder how he's doing out there..."

Dr. Briefs asked nobody in particular if they thought the Saiyan was safe.

* * *

The Saiyan stayed in his hotel suite long enough to take a twenty minute shower (incurring extra charges in the process) and groom, down a pint of fruit juice, and scan the television channels for any warnings of his presence. Once again, everything appeared to be business as usual.

"Time to make my presence known."

He left through the lobby and went onto the street, eyes scanning the clutter of neon signs and holographic advertisements competing for his attention.

Fifteen blocks away from the hotel, he'd entered a much seedier side of Station 6 and the advertisements grew less sophisticated and more spaced out. The street lamps first dimmed, then were flickering, before they seemed to have been phased out altogether. A slender woman with silvery skin and thick red hair approached, hips swinging as she came to him.

"Hey soldier, you want a date?"

"No," Vegeta barked at her and kept walking.

"C'mon, baby, let me relieve some of your tension..." she followed him and circled around him twice.

"I said no, bitch!" The Saiyan shoved her into a stone wall. He heard the wet snap of a bone breaking followed immediately after by her wailing in agony. He didn't look back and continued to walk through the neighbourhood.

After another forty minutes of walking, barely paying attention to the crowds, Vegeta came upon Madame Red's. The infamous brothel was huge and never closed. He watched a moving sign, half disgusted, as a holographic woman opened her legs to passerby.

He went inside and was greeted by an older woman with fiery red skin, cropped black hair, and dark, cold eyes. "Welcome to my house, soldier. What services interest you this evening?"

"Something basic. I only need an hour or two."

"Now, now, don't be in such a rush. Come with me," she waved at him to follow her into a tacky-looking parlour filled with old, overstuffed couches, "why don't I introduce you to some of the girls before you get too certain about what you want..."

He refused to sit and watched as two dozen girls filed into the parlour. They stood in a line before him and remained completely silent as he looked at each of them up and down.

"You," he pointed to a curvaceous young woman with soft pink skin and long rose-coloured hair, "what's your name?"

"I'm Violet," she fluttered her lashes at him, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

That's the worst name I've ever heard, but she'll do, thought Vegeta. He booked two hours with Violet and had to hide a sneer of revulsion when Madame Red asked if he wanted any of the "speciality bedrooms". Violet took him by the hand and led him into a large, sparsely furnished bedroom. The Saiyan noticed how her silky white nightgown clung to her figure and felt his heart rate rising.

She set the lights to glow soft pink and started to speak with him in a soft, high voice. "Anything you're looking to try tonight, handsome? What should I call you?"

"No. Just give me a nice striptease, a good fuck, and a massage, in that order. I paid for two hours and expect you to use your time efficiently. I am called Vegeta."

"Ohh, you're a man who knows what he wants, Vegeta. Well," she circled around him and flashed just a hint of a plump upper thigh, "let me help you out of that armour..."

Violet pulled his armour off and set it down on the floor with great care. Annoyed, Vegeta took off his own gloves and boots and motioned for her to start removing her own clothing. She slowly undressed before the Saiyan, taking many minutes and lingering in her underwear long enough that Vegeta pulled her onto the bed, impatient and ready to move on.

"Come on," he wiggled out of his pants and pulled his shirt off, "let's get to it." He stopped long enough to tear off her underwear before pushing inside her with minimal preparation and quickly built up to a steady rhythm that let him enjoy the feeling for just long enough before he reached orgasm. It only took two minutes of recovery before he told her that he wanted to go again.

After his third orgasm, Vegeta gave her a few minutes to recover before she started on his massage. He rolled onto his back, head turned so he could keep an eye on his armour, and took in a long breath to calm himself as he felt her warm hands, slicked with fragrant oil, run down the length of his spine.

At one point, she hit the stub of his tail hard enough that he yelped unexpectedly. Vegeta was surprised by his own sensitivity but relaxed quickly and apologized to Violet. "It was nothing you did. Just avoid that area, understand? It's a somewhat recent injury."

"Sure..." she whispered, "would you desire a relaxing oil, baby?"

Unfortunately for Violet, the Saiyan knew the oil she was referring to contained sedatives that could be absorbed through the skin. If the client passed out, they'd be billed for the additional time. "I'm no first-timer. I know what that shit you're trying to pass on me smells like, so no funny business. Just finish up and get out."

The rest of the massage was performed in near silence and Vegeta could sense her fear; the creeping terror that the man she was touching would kill her if she so much as mildly irritated him once more. She dressed very quickly and hurried out of the room.

Feeling a little wiped out, Vegeta dressed again, left the room, and returned to the brothel's front desk to deposit the room key and pay for his time.

"It's customary to add an additional fifteen percent gratuity to the bill as a "Thank You" to the girl. I see you spent two hours, in which case I would recommend a twenty percent gratuity. Would you like to add a tip, Sir?" A busty receptionist with orange hair smiled up at Vegeta as he carefully watched the total amount on the payment screen.

"I asked for two hours, therefore I will pay for two hours of that girl's time. The fact that the bitch walked out of that room after trying to scam me is a generous tip in itself. Good night." The receptionist's jaw went slack with horror as he tapped his ghost card on the payment hub and went on his way.

* * *

In the lab, Dr. Briefs and Bulma reviewed the blueprints for the second-generation Capsule Corp. ship and they argued back and forth about what could be improved on.

"We need to look into a lighter frame construction. The fuel consumption on the ship is dismal." Dr. Briefs wasn't happy with the life of the fuel cells and was dismayed at what he felt was an inefficient vital component to the ship he'd designed with his daughter.

"But will it be able to withstand the stress of changing levels of gravity if there's a simulator installed? We'd have to create some kind of internal, flexible scaffolding between two strong but thin walls..." Bulma leaned back in her chair and puffed on her third cigarette that hour. She tended the smoke much more when stressed, and she was feeling very stressed on that particular night.

"It's pushing one thirty. Maybe we should call it a night?" Dr. Briefs stubbed out his last cigarette, feeling burned out.

"I think so, Dad. Getting that second generation ship up and running was an endeavour in itself..." Bulma trailed off into a yawn and stubbed her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, "we'll talk about it tomorrow afternoon. G'night."

She wandered out of the lab and into the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate. Although she was exhausted, she needed to wind down and calm her frayed nerves before she could fall asleep. With her warm beverage, she went outside into the garden and took stretched out on a rocking lounger.

Several of the Namekians were also out, enjoying the clear night sky and comfortable temperature. "Good evening!" She waved and smiled at her peaceful guests.

"It certainly is a beautiful night, Miss Bulma. Are you well?" Elder Moori broke from the group and took a seat across from her.

"My dad and I are working on a new ship, since the last one was unexpectedly used for a little joyride..." she scowled and tried not to let her temper rise.

"It is very unfortunate that nasty Saiyan chose to steal your ship to leave this planet. I would have much preferred he found other means of transport as well, Miss Bulma."

The engineer chuckled briefly before the gnawing worry in her stomach grew suddenly much stronger. "I just worry he's going to get himself in serious trouble. I want that ship back, damn it!"

They were both laughing, but Bulma couldn't help but wonder if Vegeta could actually survive on his own. As far as she knew, he'd always been accompanied by two other Saiyans, not to mention his alliance with Gohan and Krillin on Namek. Had he ever spent a great deal of time alone? Just how powerful was he, anyway?

She didn't go to bed until four thirty in the morning.

* * *

Vegeta hit another diner after his time at Madame Red's. He ordered another huge bowl of soup with noodles, opting for raw meat, shellfish, a trio of pungent vegetables, more herbal tea, and a bowl of fruit on the side. He never consumed the refreshments in brothels, unnerved by how they were frequently prepared in huge batches and freely given.

He ate slowly, savouring his meal and enjoying the relative quiet of his mind. He did notice that more patrons seemed to take quick glances at him, and he caught one or two patrons outright staring at him before they hid their faces behind their hands or turned away.

After requesting a second bowl of soup, he swung around in his seat and faced a bulk of the diners. All the conversation ground to a halt within seconds in the diner that only the clatter of steel utensils on the kitchen cook-top could be heard.

"The rumours you may have heard about me are true, and I would be more than happy to prove it so. I am Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, and I'm not here to start trouble with any of you unless you choose to start some trouble. Obviously, those rumours of my demise are patently false. I'm looking for a Saiyan who calls himself "Goku", and if any of you know anything, you'd best tell me now."

A collection of grim, frightened faces stared at him but nobody responded. After two minutes of scanning the diners and trying to pinpoint anybody who looked like they may be withholding information, he decided they were just ignorant and swung back around in time for his soup to arrive.

"Waiter, please make me a new pot of tea and refresh my fruit bowl," he softly requested before turning back around again to stare at the still-silent diners once more, "you can start talking again! I'm not interested in what any of you have to say!"

* * *

On Planet 56, Jabuka couldn't shake the feeling that he knew who had drugged and robbed him. Incredibly, he hadn't sustained any physical harm in the incident, but the veteran soldier was paranoid and constantly tried to piece together what had happened.

His first solid clue would arrive when an officer buzzed his apartment and requested to come up and speak with him. Certain he hadn't committed any major offenses, Jabuka buzzed the officer upstairs and allowed him to come in. He had nothing to hide.

"I located scouter registered under your name. It was located at Sevn, Sir. I understand you were recently the victim of a robbery and this may prove helpful. It looks alright and should work fine. Anyway, that's all I came by for. Have a nice day, Sir!" A young officer quickly produced the scouter, gave the older soldier a polite nod, and left his apartment.

"Huh..." Jabuka narrowed his eyes and vaguely recalled he'd gone out the night he'd been robbed, "maybe this will help me remember..."

He placed the scouter on his ear and began to listen to the communication log from that day he couldn't remember.


	21. Night In Station 6, part II

After his dinner, Vegeta returned to the hotel on foot and went to bed in very short time. He slept six dreamless hours and awoke to find the glittering city in the deep of its famously long night. If he recalled correctly, the sun would not rise again for at least another eight to ten hours, and the Saiyan's lips curled into a crooked grin when he recognized that this gave him a great opportunity to catch people off-guard and gather information.

For two hours, the Saiyan lingered in his hotel room, sprawled out across a three seat sofa with his gaze fixed on the city outside his window. He opened a bottle of expensive sparkling wine and drank all of it, reasoning that he was lowering his risk of experiencing a bout of anxiety in a crowded nightclub by being under the influence of alcohol.

Double-checking his armour to confirm he still had everything he'd taken into the city, Vegeta left his room for the last time and went to the lobby to check out.

"Leaving so soon, Sir?" The familiar man was back behind the check-in desk and gave the Saiyan an odd, nervous smile.

"Been here long enough," Vegeta sneered, "I just wanted to sleep a while."

"You'll still be charged for the full night, Sir."

"Yeah, that's fine," Vegeta lazily scrawled something resembling his signature using a stylus and tablet when prompted, "I know how hotels work."

* * *

Jabuka thought his heart would pound right out of his chest when he heard Vegeta's husky voice through the audio archive in his scouter. At one point during their chance meeting, he'd taken off his own scouter and deposited it into an empty booth, foolishly leaving himself open to a sneak attack.

"He really is alive... but why didn't he kill me?" Jabuka questioned aloud, desperate to piece together his lost night in the hopes it would give him an idea of where Vegeta had headed next.

The scouter's incoming communication signal chirped cheerfully in his ear and Jabuka accepted. "This is Jabuka speaking."

"Jabuka! Boy, am I glad to finally get through to you! I need you to head over to Station 6 for a pick up. There's a box of micro-processors I ordered from a manufacturer there and they're finally ready. Package number is six-eight-three-nine-one, and you can consider this a medium security delivery. Understand?" The rumbling, tired voice belonging to a respected mechanic was uncomfortably loud in Jabuka's ear, but he listened and accepted the assignment without complaint.

"Station 6, hmm? Very popular destination... perhaps I'll be able to track down a certain friend there!"

Jabuka wasted no time in throwing a few essential items into a pack before locking up his apartment and heading to the docking bay for his pod.

* * *

Vegeta made his way down the busy streets and ignored the obnoxious club promoters who tried to shove advertisements and complimentary drink tickets in his face. Consumed in his thoughts, he was soon wandering aimlessly.

_Just where the hell did Kakkarot go? How did he even escape from Namek? Did he manage to get Frieza's ship up and running in time? Or did he find an alternate means of escape on another ship? Maybe he took a pod belonging to a member of the Ginyu force... I don't recall them being damaged or destroyed during my encounter with them... god damn, I won't be missing those morons... but does Kakkarot even know how to operate a pod? Oh fuck, what if the coordinates were already set in the pod's computer and he just went into stasis? Kakkarot is a moron, but even he could figure out how to operate a PTO travel pod. What if he's travelling now? What if Namek was simply a quick stop for the Ginyus? Surely they must have been headed somewhere else... Frieza gives them their assignments well in advance... what if the Ginyus were headed to a planet where the inhabitants possessed special powers? What if Kakkarot is learning new techniques from these people? Ugh, how could I possibly keep up with Kakkarot when I don't even know where he is?_

He started to feel sick to his stomach.

_What if I never find him? What if this mission is pointless and I'm just wasting my time? Did I even make the right decision by leaving Earth? Perhaps I should have remained there and should have taken the ship to an isolated area instead... but I cannot return now! I cannot even think of returning to those people until I at least get some solid information about the Ginyus and their assignments!_

_Now, with whom would I speak regarding the Ginyus and their assignments? Such sensitive information would only be known to some high-ranking soldiers or the most skilled communications personnel... oh, this might be hopeless! How am I to advance if I can only obtain information through gossip and hearsay?_

The Saiyan ducked into a dark alleyway, his stomach clenching from anxiety and his skin clammy underneath his uniform.

_Don't do this, Vegeta. Don't freak out or let some anxiety take over. Get it together, damn it!_

He breathed in for five counts, held another five, and exhaled for ten counts. Vegeta forced himself to repeat this breathing until his heart had slowed to its normal rate and he didn't feel like vomiting any longer.

The Saiyan returned to the crowded sidewalk and soon arrived at SixBlue, an upscale club catering to the elite and very wealthy. Vegeta sighed when he spotted the line-up and marched to the front of the line and looked the tall, powerfully built doorman with blue skin up and down.

"You look like a tough guy," Vegeta sided up to the doorman and smirked at him, "I bet you can fight."

The doorman rolled his eyes. "Sure I can fight, but your compliments won't get you in the club. The only way you's gettin in is if you knock me out cold, an' I don' see that happenin'. Back of the line, buddy!"

"Then I challenge you to a fight. If I win, you let me in," spat the Saiyan, shifting into a fighting stance, "but if I lose, I'll leave quietly."

The doorman laughed and looked down his wide, crooked nose at Vegeta. "You wanna fight, little guy? Sure!" He swung a massive, heavy arm at Vegeta but missed. The Saiyan sprung up eight feet into the air and landed on the doorman's shoulders and brought his clenched hands down onto the doorman's skull. He landed on the pavement in a heap and Vegeta landed gracefully beside the unconscious doorman.

"Looks like I get in tonight!" Vegeta hopped over the velvet rope and headed inside.

SixBlue was crowded, ostentatious, overpriced, and featured satin hangings the colour of sapphire on the walls and a clear blue dance floor that was lit from underneath using soft light that alternated between pink, green, yellow, and blue. The bar was designed to appear as though it had been made from diamonds and clear crystals hung from the mirrored ceiling.

Vegeta ordered a glass of fruit liqueur and held it close to his chest as he made his way through the throngs of people and upstairs to the booths. He scanned the patrons and hoped he'd recognize somebody that could provide him with information.

The Saiyan did not expect to find himself quickly surrounded by a trio of soldiers he vaguely recalled working with eight or ten years earlier. They were high ranking soldiers; members of a purge team that Vegeta and his two Saiyan comrades had joined forces with for a few missions. It had been a typical working relationship: Vegeta kept his distance, but he took his work seriously and was reliable.

He felt embarrassed when he couldn't recall their names.

"Well, well, the prince of all Saiyans is alive and well!" A stocky humanoid with white skin and hair the colour of moss gave him a playful cuff on the shoulder and reintroduced himself: "Do you remember me? I'm Nile."

One of the soldiers to Nile's left was tall, lean, and had copper skin and short silver hair. The other, standing at Nile's right, only came up to Vegeta's chin and had a thick mane of brown hair and narrow, shifty eyes. Neither of them offered any greeting to the Saiyan and seemed to look right through him.

"Nile, yeah! We did some purges together, right? It's certainly been a while. How are you?" Vegeta returned the gesture with a closed fist and slightly more force, subtly warning his acquaintance that he was ready and willing to fight.

"You want to come to our booth, Vegeta? We're ordering bottles and were planning to hang out here for a while."

The Saiyan shrugged and followed them. They had six different bottles of liquor at their table, set in silver buckets filled with ice. He felt uneasy when Nile's silent partners took their seats beside Vegeta, effectively closing him in the booth.

Nile cracked the seal on an icy bottle of fruit liqueur and offered Vegeta a glass. The Saiyan accepted. Next, Nile poured glasses of liqueur for his partners, and finally a glass for himself.

"Cheers, Vegeta. Good to see you again," Nile bowed his head as a sign of respect to Vegeta and raised his glass.

"What's with your partners, Nile? I can't recall ever working with a pair of mutes!" Vegeta sneered, raised his glass, and took a small sip of his liqueur.

"Ah, don't mind them, Vegeta. Bobica- the tall one on your left, and Sladak- the tiny guy on your right, never speak unless specifically instructed to. Speaking of partners, Vegeta... where are Raditz and Nappa? Surely those two are still working with you?"

Another sip of liqueur. "Both dead. Raditz died in combat while Nappa suffered a terrible spinal injury and had to be dispatched. Lost both of them within a year... but enough about that, Nile- are you still doing purges? You were an efficient partner, if I do say so myself."

"Your compliment is much appreciated, Vegeta," Nile toasted the Saiyan again with a dark smile flickering across his face, "but we've moved into much more _interesting_ work. These days we're picking up special assignments... sometimes we do diplomacy, other times we're elite hit-men. The work pays very handsomely and we're always traveling somewhere interesting. The only men that may be a league above ours are the Ginyus. So, my friend, what have you been up to? Still purging, I bet..."

Vegeta mirrored Nile's smile and slowly shook his head. "Purging? You could say I am, Nile. You wouldn't happen to know where the Ginyus were headed, would you?"

The one called Bobica growled deep in his chest and Nile raised his hand in warning. "Enough, Bobica," he studied Vegeta's face before quickly shrugging his broad shoulders, "unfortunately I am not privy to the whereabouts or plans of the Ginyu force."

"Damn!" Snarled Vegeta, slamming his drink on the table, "and now they're all dead! I'm never going to get anywhere like this!"

Nile's face seemed to grow even paler in the overwhelmingly blue light and he stared at Vegeta in horror. "H-how would you know that, Vegeta?"

"Because I'm the one who killed them!" Vegeta leaned back in the booth, raised his glass in mock toast, and realized too late that Nile had motioned his partners to attack Vegeta as he took a sip of alcohol.

The silent guards carried thin, sharp blades and the Saiyan realized he was being attacked as the one on his left took a swipe at his ribcage while the one on his right plunged a blade into his upper thigh, withdrew, and stabbed him again. Howling in pain, Vegeta fired a white-hot blast of energy at the one called Bobica before whipping around to pull the blade out of his leg before plunging it into Sladak's throat and pulling it down towards his collarbone

Heart pounding, Vegeta kicked the table forward and pinned Nile in his seat. The Saiyan leaned forward and shot another powerful wave of energy, his palm less than an inch from Nile's face. When it was over two seconds later, Nile's face had been completely burned away.

The huge crowd on the dance floor noticed the commotion upstairs and screams started to reverberate through the space. Vegeta watched as soldiers and patrons began to rush towards him, seemingly in slow motion, before he felt hot blood soaking his clothing and snapped back into real time. The Saiyan fired several blasts of energy to keep the crowd at bay and rushed out the fire exit at the other end of the upper-floor space.

Rickety steel fire escape groaning underneath the Saiyan's weight, Vegeta took enough time to recognize and acknowledge that he was injured and needed to take care of himself as soon as possible before he took off into the night and flew back to his ship.

Blood oozing through his clothes at an alarming rate, Vegeta flew back to his ship as quickly as he could manage, fighting to keep his body straight, the pain from the stab wounds bordering on excruciating.

"Fuck, why did I have to land one hundred and fifty kilometers away from the city? I'm an idiot! Why didn't I consider the possibility of being injured? Fuck!"

He stopped flying, nausea overpowering him, and let himself sink to the ground before he doubled over and vomited. At least there isn't blood in my sick, he thought, and I'll take any positive signs I can get right now.

It took almost an hour to get back to the ship, his boots more red than white and his face very pale by the time he got there. He crawled up the steps, dragged himself into the pilot's seat and simply launched himself into space with no destination in mind.

I need to act now before this gets worse, he told himself, and he forced himself to keep moving. He went downstairs and grabbed a large bottle of water off the counter and staggered into the bathroom. He took the first-aid kit he'd stolen from Jabuka and opened it, smiling when he found a wrapped package of crystallized drink mix designed for mammalian life forms who had lost blood. It tasted horrible, but Vegeta had used it before and knew it could help keep him conscious and somewhat stable.

Sitting on the toilet, his hands trembling, Vegeta tore a corner of the package open and let it dribble into the bottle, squeezing it between his thighs so as not to drop it.

After a few cautious sips to ensure he would not vomit, Vegeta was convinced he could take care of himself and took a pair of surgical scissors to his clothing. He pulled off his boots and several tablespoons worth of blood dribbled out. Blood spattered across the floor and walls as he tossed his clothing into a corner and continued to undress.

"And I just got this..." he lamented, pulling the leggings free from his injured legs and snarling when he saw the damage dealt by the soldiers he'd fought.

It took five minutes to wiggle out of the armour, a folded dry washcloth placed between his teeth to stifle his own agonized howls. He forced himself into the shower to rinse off and check his wounds. The stab wounds to the thighs were the deepest and continued to ooze blood, while the wounds to his sides were more like deep scratches and the bleeding had already started to slow there.

Inside the first-aid kit supplied by Bulma, the Saiyan found large and small bandages alike, surgical tape, iodine and alcohol swabs, and thick tensor bandages. He laid a fresh towel on the floor, sat down with his legs extended, and tended to the wounds on his thighs first. He took the vial of local anaesthetic from Jabuka's first aid kit, drew some of the liquid into a fresh syringe, and gingerly injected the drug into the swollen flesh surrounding the wounds. Grateful for the freezing, Vegeta cleaned his wounds a second time and dribbled a thick healing serum inside the wounds before bandaging them and wrapping the area with a length of tensor bandage.

The wounds on his sides took more time, but only required a very thorough cleaning, careful bandaging, and a final layer of tensor bandage from his ribcage to his hips.

Rather pleased with his work, Vegeta took his drink back to his sleeping area and eased himself onto the mattress. He wrapped himself in a blanket and stared ahead into nothing for a very long time, only taking the occasional sip from the restorative drink he'd prepared before anything else.

After an hour, he returned to the washroom and took the vials out of his damaged armour. He found the painkillers and took two tablets. Feeling somewhat stable, Vegeta finally looked at the bloodied tiles, shower, toilet, clothing, and struggled not to gag at the smell.

He managed to wiggle into a pair of loose shorts and a light long-sleeve shirt and went back to bed. Paranoid, the Saiyan convinced himself that he needed to stay awake in order to monitor his status.

_You've lost blood and took strong painkillers. Stay alert! Don't screw this up!_

After forty minutes and close to two pints of his recovery drink, Vegeta finally passed out.

" **INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL..."**

Vegeta's eyes cracked open and he winced at the bright light. "Ignore..." he muttered, drawing the covers over his face.

An hour later, he woke up again and slowly sat up in bed. " _Ugh_..." he shuffled into the kitchen and found a package of cereal, took a seat at the small table and began to eat it dry.

" **INCOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOMING VIDEO CALL..."**

"Ignore!" He barked through a mouthful of cereal.

Twenty minutes passed in dead silence. He ate slowly and marvelled at how stagnant his train of thought had become since his debauched night had started the minute he checked into the hotel in Station 6.

**"ICOMING VIDEO CALL... INCOM-"**

"Damn it! What do these people want?! Fine! **Accept!** "

A screen appeared from behind a hidden wall panel. Bulma's image flickered on the screen, and the first thing Vegeta noticed was how tired she appeared. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"What the fuck do you want?!" He snarled, upper lip curled tightly enough to reveal his gums.

She continued to stare at him with her face frozen in horror.

"Is something wrong?" He asked her, one thick brow rising.

"You look _terrible._ What did you do?!"

The Saiyan unconsciously rubbed his cheek and felt something flaking off his skin. "Losing a half litre or so of blood tends to do that," he pushed the box of cereal aside, "but I took care of my injuries. Don't worry about me, Bulma."

"Oh, my god... what happened?"

"Got stabbed about six times, mostly to the thighs. I took care of myself and will search for medical care if I require it."

Bulma seemed to freeze again for at least ten seconds. She shook her head with disapproval and shrugged at him. "How did you manage to get stabbed? Just what exactly are you up to?"

The Saiyan growled and pulled the box of cereal into his lap. "That's my business! Quit bothering me all the time, bitch!"

"You prick! You should be grateful somebody would actually give a damn about your well-being!" Bulma snarled right back, her teeth bared and brows furrowed.

Vegeta smirked at her and tilted his head upward, silently challenging her argument and telling her that he didn't care about what she had to say. When Bulma mirrored his gesture, a spark of amusement and pride crackled in his gut. "I'll call you someday when I fucking well feel like it. Until then, don't bother me unless it's important!"

He disconnected and resumed eating his dry cereal.


	22. Loneliness

Power to the car engine cut, the vehicle's interior went quiet and Bulma leaned back in her seat and sighed contentedly.

"That was fun, Yamcha. Let's do that again sometime!" She looked over at her boyfriend and smiled. Bulma hadn't expected to enjoy a date to a batting cage, but it had turned out to be a great way to let off steam after her argument with a badly injured Vegeta three days prior.

"I'm glad you liked it, babe. Isn't it a great way to get over some anger?" The warrior was still elated that Bulma had taken to his idea of a good date so readily.

"Seriously... I practically forget what I was upset about now!"

Yamcha cleared his throat and drew a wiggling line in the condensation accumulating on the window. "So... do you think he's alright?"

"Why should I care if that jackass is alright? He probably did something to deserve it..." Bulma grumbled and folded her arms over her chest. Yamcha noticed how she dipped her chin and couldn't help but think her body language resembled the Saiyan's.

"You're that pissed, huh?"

"Aaaagh! I don't even want to think about Vegeta, let alone talk about him! Yamcha, don't bring up that- that _alien_ again for a while! He said he'll call, to quote him directly: _"when he fucking well feels like it",_ so that's when he'll fucking well call us! Come on, Yamcha, let's go inside and have a drink!"

* * *

Three days passed with Vegeta spending much of it in a haze. Out of frustration, he forced himself to train on the third day but stopped when his wounds started to tear back open and bleed; it took another forty minutes in the bathroom to clean himself up and bandage the wounds before he was satisfied with his handiwork and trusted himself to go to sleep.

On the fourth day, Vegeta woke up with a fever and accepted the reality he needed proper medical treatment. Some of the wounds dealt to his thighs had grown inflamed and were starting to ooze pus.

He went upstairs to the pilot's seat and checked his current coordinates. By sheer luck, he was roughly fifty hours away from Frieza Station 802, a lonely hub that was considered a "last resort" by injured soldiers due to its lack of nightlife and comfortable accommodations.

Vegeta recalled the station's call number, having memorized thousands of them as a teenager in order to prove his worth as a soldier to Frieza, and nervously dialled the station's tiny clinic.

A squat, frog-like man with pastel blue skin answered the call and his bright hazel eyes grew wide when he recognized Vegeta on the video screen. As a physician, Doctor Zelen had treated Vegeta like any other patient, but as a man, he was terrified of the Saiyan prince and wanted nothing to do with him.

"By gods... you really are alive! Vegeta, why did you call this station? There's absolutely nothing here you could want."

"Doctor, I am in desperate need medical assistance. A few days ago, I was attacked and cannot take care of the wounds by myself. I am roughly fifty hours away. Do not turn me away. Please." Vegeta tried to shoot his most intimidating glare at the doctor but the discomfort of his injuries tinged his expression. He gently pressed one of the bandaged areas with his fingertips and hissed with pain.

Despite his reservations, Doctor Zelen agreed to treat Vegeta when he arrived. "I don't know if we could have you spend much time in a healing tank... there aren't many people left on this station, but I am certain you are quite aware that you are entering very unfriendly territory, Vegeta."

"Yeah, yeah," Vegeta rolled his eyes, "I know a bunch of people are pissed off at me. I won't cause trouble if none is given to me, understand?"

"I only hope so. Please call me again when you are approaching and I'll do my best to accommodate you."

* * *

_Raditz sat up in his bed with Vegeta straddling his hips and ran the tip of his tongue down the prince's slender neck. "Mmm, I like it when you're on top..."_

_The elder Saiyan was already naked while Vegeta was down to his leggings. The recessed lights in the ceiling had been dimmed and programmed so they emitted a soft amber glow. The smell of incense and mood-altering herbs was heavy in the warm room._

_Vegeta let his head roll back and he sighed. "Yeah, me too... you owe me, Raditz. I saved your hide on that mission."_

" _Guess I do... how shall I service you, my prince?" Raditz chuckled and kissed Vegeta's bare chest. When Vegeta sighed again, he took a nipple in his mouth and rolled his tongue around it before gently biting down on the firm flesh._

" _Ah!" Vegeta's grip tightened around Raditz' huge shoulders. "Do that thing where you get me all hot for half an hour before we get to sex. I think that'd be a good start. And don't you even think of letting up until I say I'm satisfied!"_

_Raditz chuckled and nipped at Vegeta's shoulders and crook of his neck. "Damn, someday I won't be able to keep up with you! Where's all that energy coming from, hmm?"_

" _Wouldn't you like to know?" Vegeta returned the affection by nibbling on Raditz' earlobe when he leaned in to whisper. He ground against the elder Saiyan's erection and started to wiggle out of his leggings._

_He found himself being moved onto his back and Raditz was in between his spread legs, quickly pulling off the form-fitting leggings and tossing them across the room. The Saiyan prince took a deep breath and bit his lower lip in anticipation when he felt Raditz' fingers moving back up his inner thighs as his tongue travelled down his belly and towards his erection._

_He shut his eyes and a moan escaped from his throat._

Vegeta's eyes snapped open and he found himself back on board the Capsule Corp ship, with all the lights shut off except for his bedside lamp and the bright light above the sink in the kitchenette. Between the painful wounds to his thighs, a dry mouth, rumbling stomach, and an uncomfortable erection, the Saiyan was most displeased that he'd woken up feeling less than one hundred percent.

Still, he rose out of bed and went into his bathroom to have a hot shower. He cleaned his wounds carefully and found the inflammation had increased, but there still wasn't much pus or fluid.

I'll take what I can get right now, he thought bitterly, and hopefully an infection won't get out of control before I get to Station 802.

Cleaned off to his personal level of satisfaction, Vegeta sat on the shower's small molded seat and draped a hot hand towel across his shoulders. His erection hadn't gone away in spite of the discomfort of cleaning his wounds, and he accepted he had to _deal with this_ too.

After his shower, Vegeta went into the kitchenette and cooked an entire carton of pasteurized eggs and had it alongside several pieces of flat bread smeared with sweet fruit preserves. He drank three large glasses of water, took a single painkiller tablet, and returned to bed.

For the next two days, his routine consisted of cleaning his wounds twice daily, four small meals spaced every three hours apart, gentle stretching, a lot of sleep, brooding, and little else. The Saiyan set an alarm to wake him four hours before he reached the station, so he could inform Doctor Zalen and make arrangements for a quiet landing.

When Vegeta awoke to call Doctor Zalen, his fever was higher and his legs ached terribly. Forcing himself into the pilot's seat, he dialled the station's clinic and waited to be connected.

Doctor Zelen answered on the second connection tone. "Vegeta. When you arrive, dock at Gate 4. You'll locate the clinic four hundred metres down the corridor- trust me, you won't miss it. The station is pretty dead these days anyway... I doubt anybody is going to give you trouble, should you run into some poor soul stuck in this hole. How are you holding up?"

"Fever. Thirst. I'm pretty certain the wounds on my legs are infected, but the damage to my side is healing nicely."

The doctor nodded, almost sympathetic. "How far away are you now?"

"About four hours, Doctor," Vegeta quickly wiped his damp brow and tried to ignore his shivering. A cold bead of sweat down his armpit and side made him grimace.

"If you have any antipyretic tablets, take two with a glass of water or light juice. Eat something light and bland if you can manage. No alcohol. Try to avoid taking any more painkillers until I see you, if possible."

The Saiyan gave a slow nod. "Understood."

Doctor Zelen studied Vegeta, hunched over in his chair with his eyes downcast and arms wrapped tightly around his chest, hands tucked into his armpits. He'd always been intimidated by the Saiyan warrior and had heard truly horrifying stories about the things he was capable of doing, but he'd never seen the powerful man look so defeated before. "You'll be back to normal before much longer, Vegeta. I promise that you'll be in good care. Other than that... how are you doing, Vegeta?"

"Lonely," he instantly muttered in reply, only realizing what he'd admitted to three seconds later, his almond-shaped eyes widened with horror and his lips curled down into a furious scowl, "I'll see you soon, Doctor." Vegeta disconnected and hunched over again, shivering and sweating.

A hard, dry lump rose slowly up his throat and refused to be swallowed back down into the chest. The Saiyan's eyes started to sting and he rubbed them, desperate to suppress that awful urge to cry out loud. I can't give in to it, he coached himself silently, think of what could happen if you were to break down or get hysterical! One long, high-pitched whine escaped before he coughed and gagged, a few hot tears rolling down his cheeks before he started counting his breath and forcing the ache he couldn't escape deep down again.


	23. The Benefits of Isolation

Looks like Doctor Zelen wasn't kidding when he said this place was dead, Vegeta thought to himself as he started the process of docking the ship at aboard the space station, looks like this place got downgraded.

Ten minutes later, Vegeta slowly descended the metal steps of the Capsule Corp ship. Eyeing the station's main corridor, he spotted nobody and the hum of electrical lights started to disturb him. He shut and locked the doors and started to walk towards the clinic. His legs ached terribly and he felt unusually tired.

A flashing green cross at the end of the hallway was a welcome beacon to Vegeta. Many of the old storefronts and service centres on the space station had been shut down, empty spaces that were seemingly swallowed up in the black of deep space. An old strip of restaurants and taverns were still lit up and their doors propped open despite the lack of food, servers, and patrons. Piped-in music coming from a tavern he'd frequented years prior caught him off guard and he shivered when he recognized the melody played on some sort of plucked string instrument.

When Vegeta reached the clinic, Doctor Zelen was at the doors awaiting his patient.

"Come in," he opened the glass door for Vegeta and noted his pale face and bandaged wounds scattered around his thighs.

The clinic was silent too, apparently staffed only by the lone doctor on the station. Vegeta followed the doctor into an examination room and found most of the equipment was on the verge of being considered out-of-date.

"You weren't kidding when you said the place was totally dead," Vegeta eased himself onto a cold examination table, "I remember when this place used to be a popular stop-over for soldiers returning from a mission." His brow furrowed when Doctor Zelen pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and started to remove the bandages, some of which had grown stuck on fresh scabs and caused Vegeta to start bleeding again.

"Frieza decided this place wasn't worthwhile any more and has left it to die a slow death. My contract requires I remain here for another two years..." Doctor Zelen dabbed at blood that oozed to the surface of Vegeta's wounds and shook his head with disapproval, "but so very few soldiers come by here now. I see the young lady who delivers my supplies and rations more often than I see a wounded soldier..." his creaky voice faded into a sigh and he tossed the dirty bandages into a sterile container.

"You must be bored."

"Vegeta, how did you sustain these wounds? These look like deep puncture wounds."

"Got stabbed in a nightclub. My assailant is dead, obviously. I've been trying to keep them clean, but apparently that's easier said than done. I have first aid supplies aboard my ship, but I don't know what the hell is going on with these wounds."

"Mmhm... all things considered, you've done alright for yourself, but based on how these wounds are healing, or not healing for that matter, I suspect you were stabbed with a blade that was coated with poison or some kind of compound that would fight against your immune system. Now, let's see..." Doctor Zelen took a digital thermometer from his coat pocket and pressed it against Vegeta's forehead, "...and as I suspected, you're running a moderate fever. Your body is trying to fight an infection. Well, the good news is that I can prescribe you an antibiotic treatment."

"If there is good news, Doctor, surely you must have bad news for me as well..."

Doctor Zelen laughed at Vegeta's dry delivery. "Nothing gets past you, does it? The bad news is that the antibiotics are going to make you feel ill for quite a few days. To put it into the most tasteful description I can imagine, your body will be literally purging the infection. You may find your Saiyan appetite becomes quite diminished or feel like it's vanished altogether."

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before, Doctor."

Doctor Zelen thoroughly cleaned Vegeta's wounds using an antiseptic solution before treating each area of broken, inflamed skin with a powerful healing salve and bandaging them again. At Doctor Zelen's insistence, Vegeta provided him with a urine sample which was sent through a machine designed to detect infections and diseases.

Laying on the examination table with his eyes shut, Vegeta stole a few minutes of sleep while Doctor Zelen read the results from the machine and busied himself with pressing powdered antibiotics and binders into pills.

Thirty minutes later, Doctor Zelen re-entered the examination room and gently roused Vegeta, terrified he'd anger the Saiyan in the process. During his many years as a medical doctor, he found Saiyans needed quite a bit of sleep and disliked having their sleep interrupted. Vegeta's notorious reputation included a particularly gory tale about him killing a group low-ranking soldiers who dared to interrupt his sleep aboard a cramped mass-transit ship.

"Vegeta, I just read the results from your urine sample... and I suspect you might be fighting two different infections at the same time."

"Oh, wonderful..." Vegeta sat up and yawned.

"Have you recently... um, how should I say... slept with somebody you didn't know very well?" Doctor Zelen was worried Vegeta might kill him for daring to ask such a question.

The Saiyan's face went pale from shock before turning bright red from embarrassment. "Why do you wish to know such personal information?"

"Because the analysis of your urine sample shows you've acquired an infection that is typically spread through unprotected sexual activity, Vegeta. I- I mean, it can be acquired through infected blood reaching an open wound... in extremely rare cases... but still, however you picked it up, it's easy enough to get rid of as long as you complete the course of treatment... and refrain from sexual activity with a partner for the next sixty days..."

Vegeta had no comeback for Doctor Zelen. He accepted the Doctor's advice, red-faced, and caught the blinking lights distant satellite cut across the corner of the examination room's large window.

"Don't you get lonely here, all by yourself?"

"Do you get lonely aboard your ship?"

"Mm, fair enough, Doctor. I have distractions on there, and spend time training..."

"I have things to read, cases to study, can pick up broadcast signals, and occasionally receive a call," Doctor Zelen unfolded a canvas bag and started to pack it with antibiotics, painkillers, bandages, soaps, and valuable medical supplies, "strange as it may sound, I am isolated here but I am also reasonably safe here. There are fewer threats here than on one of Frieza's planets or one of his dreadful ships. Certainly fewer unruly soldiers or fights to avoid. My mind is good, and although I am alone, I'm not always lonely. I can take care of myself. There's something to be said for spending time by yourself and the opportunity to learn about yourself. Ah, but I'm rambling now..."

The Saiyan found himself nodding in agreement with Doctor Zelen. "I can understand what you're saying. Perhaps isolation or loneliness is a condition some of us simply have to live with. Nappa and Raditz are dead, but I actually feel less lonely now that they're gone. I should be leaving, Doctor."

Doctor Zelen gave Vegeta a slow nod and passed him the packed bag. "Take care of yourself, Vegeta. May I just say something to you?"

"Sure. Walk with me to my ship."

They slowly headed back down the corridor, Vegeta finding his pain had already diminished. It was easier to ignore the familiar music as they passed by the empty pubs with somebody to talk to.

"When you contacted me, Vegeta, I wasn't entirely surprised to find out you were indeed still alive. The rumours of your demise seemed just too gruesome and shocking to be true. What I suspect is that you found some kind of haven on a distant planet and stayed there for a while until Frieza seemingly vanished. Whatever happened on that planet or place you visited, it's done you some good. You are just a little different from the cold, arrogant prince I've treated in the past. If you can, you should consider returning there. There has been no news from Frieza in many months. Most unusual, if you ask me- it's as though he's vanished into nothingness. Get out while you can."

Vegeta was dumbstruck by Doctor Zelen's comments and said nothing until they'd reached the docking bay. "You are a very intelligent man, Doctor. I thank you for your assistance today. Please, let me leave you with a token of my appreciation," Vegeta unlocked his ship and carefully ascended the staircase. He left the bag Doctor Zelen had packed for him in the pilot's seat, went to the kitchen for a bottle of fruit liqueur and the bottle of medicinal-tasting liquor.

He came out again carrying the bottles and presented them to the doctor, who looked up at Vegeta with complete surprise and only accepted them after he'd made absolutely sure they were gifts. "Why? The Vegeta that I remember would never do such a thing."

The Saiyan shrugged and his crooked smile spread across his face. "You've said enough to make me think, Doctor. Besides, being alone on this station with no open taverns must be a nightmare. Good bye, Doctor Zelen."

Vegeta returned to his ship, locked the door, and set off again. He didn't set any coordinates into the computer. He went down to kitchenette with his pack of fresh medical supplies and medicine and started to read the instructions included with his tiny green bottle of antibiotics.

_STEP 1 (green bottle)_

_Directions: Take 1 tablet every 8 hours with plenty of water. Do not consume alcohol. Avoid strenuous physical activity. Vomiting and dizziness may occur. 21 Tablets._

_After all tablets have been taken, proceed to STEP 2 (white bottle)._

The Saiyan poured himself a large glass of water and took his first tablet. He went to his bedroom and set his alarm to wake him in another eight hours, crawled into bed, and soon fell asleep.


	24. A Long Dark Feeling

For seven days and seven nights, Vegeta fought the infections and with the help of good medicine and rest his wounds healed and fever subsided. After the harsh antibiotics, which had made him vomit and need the restroom so frequently that he felt as though he were passing stomach acid, he took small doses of strong-smelling liquid that returned his gut flora to its normal state and effectively reset his body.

Restored, Vegeta dedicated his time to intensive training and did not visit any planet or station for six weeks. When he wasn't training, Vegeta listened in on conversations, ate, and slept. He never spoke and even his thoughts grew simpler; he thought of Kakkarot and ways to defeat him, old battles he'd participated in, and occasionally thought of sex- more the concept of it than with an actual partner.

He stopped at stations and small planets for food, a greater percentage of it consisting of vacuum-packed rations than fresh food every time he was forced to make a landing, and made an effort not to draw attention to himself. On arid, warm planets he wore a scarf around his face and on cold planets he wore his hair pushed down underneath a hooded sweatshirt and the coat he'd been given on Earth.

Months passed. Occasionally Vegeta overheard soldiers openly wondering where Frieza had gone, and just twice had his name been mentioned- and both times the speakers were unsure about his status and health. He heard nothing about _any other_ Saiyans, nor did he hear the name "Goku" or "Kakkarot" uttered by any PTO soldier.

Vegeta went so long without speaking to anybody that he started to wonder if his voice would still work. He felt uncomfortable talking out loud to himself, considering it a sure sign that he'd gone completely insane, and instead scrawled his thoughts on scraps of paper, using any writing utensil he could scavenge from the ship.

He kept to a strict schedule, training up to nine hours every day and sleeping for at least ten hours every night. Combined with close monitoring of his food intake, his body grew sinewy and face became sharp and angular, his high cheekbones and jaw were so defined that the human-like qualities in his face diminished. When he looked in the mirror, he felt good about his appearance.

Every once in a while, he thought about Bulma.

At one point, after close to seven months of continuous travel, the lights suddenly went out during one of his designated eating periods. Vegeta finished his meal in the dark before he went up to the pilot's seat to check the main computer and power situation. The computer was slow to respond to his command and when he checked the status on the fuel cells, the blue ring had turned red and was flashing.

Finally, he spoke again: "looks like I need to call Bulma."

He found a flashlight in the kitchen and kept it on-hand in case he needed to show her something on the ship. Clearing his throat and humming to confirm his voice really did work, he dialled her contact number for the first time in many months and sat at the edge of his seat as the connection tone pulsed through the speakers. The screen occasionally flickered.

After fifteen tones, Vegeta was ready to give up when the call was finally accepted and a sleepy Bulma peered at the camera. Her hair had grown very long and she'd teased it so it appeared extra voluminous and messy from sleep. "Vegeta? Do you have any idea what time it is? I can barely see you in the dark..." she croaked, squinting to make out his features.

"Were you sleeping?" He turned on the flashlight and shone it on his face, highlighting the sharpness of his facial features in the process. Bulma gasped when she saw how different he looked- how warlike and wild he appeared once again.

She just stared at him for several seconds. "Vegeta, it's three twenty in the morning here," her voice had dropped to a whisper and she looked behind her shoulder before looking back at Vegeta. He swore that he heard a low voice muttering something in the background. "I'll need to put you on hold for a few minutes," Bulma looked back at the monitor, "let me go to the lab so I can access all the ship's information on my work computer."

When she returned, Bulma was in the bright lab, dressed in a blue plaid housecoat and her hair put up with a hair stick. "I'm going to take a wild guess and guess you're having some electrical problems."

The the bright environment of Bulma's lab illuminated Vegeta's face as he looked at his screen. "Correct. I was in my living area when all the lights and appliances cut out. The computer works, obviously, and the gravity hasn't changed since it went dark."

"What do you have the gravity control set to?" Bulma accessed the ship's files on her computer, leaned back in her chair, and lit a cigarette. She had a bad feeling about the situation aboard the ship.

"Ten times Earth's normal gravity, or the equivalent of the normal gravity on planet Vegeta. I've had it like that for months now."

"Uh-huh. Have you already looked at the settings on the ship's computer?"

"Yes," he nodded and briefly switched back to the window displaying all electrical information, "but that blue ring has turned red and is flashing. Rest assured that even I understand that something red and flashing signifies this situation needs to be remedied immediately." His crooked, wry smile appeared and he studied the woman's image in the monitor.

Bulma set her cigarette down in a glass ashtray and looked at Vegeta very strangely. "Just how long have you been travelling?"

The Saiyan shrugged and calculated the time in terms of Earth months. "About seven of your months, I'd say."

"What?! Vegeta, are you insane?" Bulma shrieked, "when I advised you to take breaks, I meant at least every four to six months! Your power supply is running dangerously low, Vegeta. You're consuming a lot of power by running the gravity machine all the time, too!" She paused to take a long drag off her cigarette and shook her head in disbelief. After many seconds, Bulma looked back up at the monitor and narrowed her eyes at Vegeta. "Look, set the gravity to one and keep it there. If you lose power to the central computer, you're screwed. Find somewhere to stop now. You have maybe two weeks left, and you'll be spending them in a cold, dark ship. You probably don't have water pressure either."

"Ugh," Vegeta groaned, "is there any emergency lighting I can use?"

"Mmm, if you lower the gravity, some of the recessed lights in the ceiling may turn back on. Make sure you keep them low and use your power as sparingly as possible."

"Understood. I'm looking at my coordinates now," Vegeta referred to the huge screen showing his position in the galaxy, "this is a pretty lonely area. I'm still in PTO territory, but there's not a lot of action where I am right now. I'm maybe about sixty hours away from a collection small planets that have remained largely unspoiled. Frieza used them as vacation spots."

"Do you know anything about the conditions?" Bulma took a small drag on her cigarette and tried not the let the good news get her hopes up too quickly. Without much power left on-board, the ship's temperature would start to plunge, possibly to below freezing.

"Temperate. Fairly bright. Primarily vegetation. No stations or major metropolitan areas."

"It'll have to do in a pinch. Expect to spend two days recharging the ship's fuel cells. The longer you spend, the better. Please call me when you land and the power's restored on your ship, alright? Don't take off without contacting me first."

The Saiyan gave her a noncommittal shrug. Of course he would call her, but he just didn't want to disconnect at that moment.

"Oh, one more thing," Bulma set her cigarette back in the ashtray, "there's a dish heater in the storage area above your bed. Once you've lowered the gravity simulator to its lowest setting, wait until the lights start turning back on- turn all of them off- and then plug in that heater. It's going to get awfully cold on that ship..."

"Great," Vegeta sneered, "I'd better get to it, then. Um, thank you, Bulma."

Bulma smiled at Vegeta. "No problem, Vegeta. You take care of yourself, okay? You can call us in another eight hours if you need to talk to somebody."

"I'll keep that in mind," Vegeta rolled his eyes and his finger hovered over the disconnect button, "uh... and hope you can fall back asleep. Good bye."

He disconnected and the ship was sent back into darkness. Vegeta sat in the pilot's chair for several minutes before he finally felt ready to return to feeling a gravity level comparable to Earth's. He lowered the gravity slowly, taking two full minutes to push the settings back to that single little number.

Vegeta felt so lightweight, so petite. So terribly insignificant.

He set the coordinates to one of the unspoiled planets Frieza used as vacation spots. The closest one was forty hours away.

After three hours, many of the lights switched back on and he hurried around shutting them off. Cautiously checking his taps, he discovered the water pressure had all but disappeared. Even the toilet didn't flush. Vegeta made a point of unplugging several appliances and kept a single light above the stove on. He plugged the dish heater in and turned it to its lowest setting.

After ten hours, Vegeta felt it was cool enough that he put on a pair of thick socks, sweatpants, and a heavy sweatshirt.

After sixteen hours, it was so cold that a thin layer of frost had formed on the port windows. The warmest places within the ship were at the central computer and Vegeta's sleeping area, his bed now supplemented with all the blankets available. Vegeta dressed in multiple layers and raised his ki enough to feel a little warmer without sweating through his clothing.

He fell asleep, wrapped in a duvet and with the heater switched off to conserve power. He watched as his breath turned to steam and wondered how cold it would be when he woke up. Twenty four hours remained.


	25. Let It Burn

Vegeta awoke after six hours, shivering and clammy with sweat. The ship was freezing. Vegeta turned on the dish heater and spent several minutes with his face inches away from its grille.

He changed into another set of thermal clothing, sweatpants, and sweatshirt. With his ki raised high enough that he could almost totally ignore the cold, Vegeta checked his position and sighed with relief when he discovered he was just over eighteen hours away from one of Frieza's private planets.

What the planet's real name was, Vegeta had no idea. It was known only as 00-2A. He'd gone to one of the private planets just once, when he was about twelve years old, under the impression he was actually being invited to rest and recuperate after a gruelling purge mission that had left him with a broken tibia and fractured wrist by the time it was all over. Instead, after spending just enough time in a regeneration tank at a medical station to be considered fit for service again and a quick meal, he took off to the planet, spending close to three months in stasis, only to discover upon landing that he was only asked to visit the planet in order to pick up several hard disks of information and deliver them to the central station on Planet 79, his unofficial "home planet" while on shore leave.

Vegeta could feel his anger growing at the recollection of that incident. His ki spiked and in turn his body temperature rose enough to make him start sweating.

"Eighteen hours. I just need to do another eighteen hours of this. It's no colder in here than in one of Frieza's prison cells. I have food and blankets. I'll be fine."

Thirty minutes later, shivering and with the dish heater turned off again to save power, he called Bulma.

"Hey there," Bulma answered on the second tone, sitting at her lab's workbench, "you holding up alright?" Her hair had been scraped back into a tight bun, a small screwdriver in one slender hand and a pair of magnifying lenses sat perched on the end of her nose. She's been working on something, thought Vegeta, I just wonder what.

"Just the slightest chill in here," Vegeta smirked, "I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"With this lack of power on-board and now the cold temperature, is there anything I should consider before making a landing? I'm a little more than seventeen hours away."

"Hmm," Bulma leaned back in her chair, "turn on your taps and keep them on, even if nothing comes out. Your fresh water supply is probably freezing up and I'd rather not have you call back to tell me a pipe burst or something."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Not that I can think of. Your landing might be a bit shaky, so make sure you've secured everything inside the ship. As I said before, expect to spend some time on whatever planet you're going to. Do you think it'll be safe there?"

"Nothing I can't handle, assuming there's actually anyone on the planet. All the sentient lifeforms were eliminated decades ago before Frieza built his hideous vacation house there."

"Oh, you're familiar with this place. That's good to hear. We'll have to cut this short, Vegeta, in the interest of conserving power on-board the ship..." Bulma brought her hand over the disconnect button.

"Then good-bye." Vegeta disconnected first.

Back on Earth, Bulma cursed when she realized Vegeta had beat her to the punch. Man, is he ever going to get an earful from _me_ when he gets back, she thought, going dead silent for months on end, only to call when he's in trouble. What a jackass!

* * *

Vegeta cycled between dozing and watching his progress towards 00-2A on the central computer. He'd turned on the taps as Bulma told him to, and no water came out. His bottled water was freezing up and his food rations wouldn't warm-up in their packet in such extreme conditions.

Finally, he felt himself entering planet's atmosphere and the familiar, welcome glow produced by the heat of his descent made the corners of his mouth curl up with pleasure. The ship groaned from the sudden temperature change as it fell towards the ground and Vegeta's innards felt like a mass of tight knots as he heard the gears for the landing pads start to turn and the ship's collection of legs extended out. He fastened the safety harness across his chest and hips, shut his eyes, and concentrated on relaxing as he came in for a landing.

Like Bulma had warned him, it wasn't the softest of landings. He bounced up in the seat and the harness caught him hard enough to make him grunt and tense up, making the slam back into the seat just a bit more uncomfortable.

Vegeta was slow to unfasten his harness and open the doors. He peered out the port window, its layer of ice melted away during the descent towards the planet, and his large eyes turned into slits at the sight of radiant daylight.

The door was slow to open, some of its mechanisms still returning to a normal functioning temperature, and in the background Vegeta could hear the faucet in the kitchenette start to drip. Daylight flooded the interior of the ship as the door opened, causing the Saiyan to cover his stinging eyes with his hands and snarl as he waited for his vision to adjust. After so long in the dark and cold, returning to warmth and light was almost too overwhelming for Vegeta.

After close to ten minutes, Vegeta rose from his seat, splayed fingers still partially covering his eyes, and he took the staircase down and walked into the light.

Fresh, unpolluted air filled Vegeta's lungs and it was enough to make his heart race with excitement. He turned his head up towards the planet's warm sun, eyes still shut, and stretched his arms out, expanding his chest to allow for even deeper breaths. The Saiyan's skin was practically tingling, whether it be from pleasure or his skin burning Vegeta did not know nor did he care.

When he finally opened his eyes and found his vision had adjusted to the light, he discovered he'd landed roughly two hundred meters from a freshwater lake. Around him was lush foliage, bright flowers, and towering trees as tall as the skyscrapers he'd seen on Earth.

Vegeta pulled off his sweat-drenched clothing and spent several hours laying lakeside, letting his skin and hair grow hot underneath the sunlight and even contentedly dozing off a few times. When he finally felt like moving again, he returned to the ship and found the kitchen faucet running. He checked the bathroom and found the sink and shower were running normally again, along with the toilet.

With the water back on, Vegeta took a long shower before going into the kitchenette to eat two packages of rations. Belly full and skin clean, Vegeta changed into a pair of running shorts and went to the pilot's chair to call Bulma.

Again, she accepted his call after only a few rings, this time lounging on a couch with her hair loose and her shoulders bared in her loose sleep shirt.

"Good to see you made it. How did it go?" She imitated the Saiyan's wry smile and noticed the ship's interior was filled with sunlight. Must have landed somewhere good, she thought, if he's hanging out in there with the door wide open.

"Not the best landing," Vegeta found himself staring at her shoulders, "but not the worst I've ever had, believe me. You look good. I left the taps open like you said and the water's running again. Being able to take a proper shower again was nice."

"And you have a sunburn," Bulma retorted, "you must be somewhere gorgeous, huh? What's it like there?"

"Ah," Vegeta looked at his pink legs and arms and immediately wondered about the state of his face, "you're right. But it'll fade into a tan soon enough, I'm sure. Anyway, you said I have to spend a few days here so the power cells can recharge, correct?"

"At least you're listening now," Bulma fought to refrain from rolling her eyes.

The Saiyan could only respond with a dry, derisive laugh. "Aha, yeah. Listening _now_. How's Earth?"

The engineer imitated Vegeta's laugh. "Practically same old, same old. My dad and I are working on a new Capsule Corp ship, since you've decided to borrow the only other model. We're already discussing the installation of new, improved safety features, better water flow to the on-board shower like you suggested, and an emergency shut-off for the gravity simulator. To tell you the truth, Vegeta, your knowledge on space-travel and the technology out in space would really come in handy right now. Do you realize it's been more than ten months since you took off?"

The Saiyan's eyes widened and he added up all the days, coming up with the same number as Bulma. Almost an entire year had passed since he'd taken off, and he'd spent a fair chunk of it in total isolation. "I'll have to plan some sort of itinerary. Do me a favour and send me some photos of the night sky directly above your house- if I can get a look at the constellations from your point of view, it'll allow me to figure out where Earth is in its orbit around your sun and determine the direction... or directions, even, that I'll take in order to return to Earth in time."

Bulma's bright eyes were shining and wide. "You're... you really are gonna come back?"

"I said I would," Vegeta shrugged, "and if I said so, then I mean so."

"I honestly thought you had perhaps died after I didn't hear from you for months on end, Vegeta. Especially considering that little talk we had after you'd been wounded..." her voice shook, recalling their awful conversation.

"The wounds weren't so bad. I healed up just fine by myself. Anyway, I'm going to go. I'm hungry and sick of eating packaged rations."

"I'll send you those pictures as soon as possible. Vegeta, take care of yourself, wherever you've landed."

"Yeah," the Saiyan gave Bulma another little shrug before disconnecting.

* * *

The Saiyan watched the sun sink behind the trees and the sky quickly turned dark. Across the lake, he could spot a collection of lights and waited for them to move or spread out, but after ten minutes of watching and waiting he realized the lights would continue to remain static.

It's a building, he thought, it's probably one of Frieza's hideous vacation homes. He took the time to close the ship's door before taking off in the direction of the building, the worry that somebody might be there rumbling in his gut.

He flew slowly, checking the water and shores for any lights or figures that may have appeared. Nightbirds and insects sang in the distance, filling the hot night air with some strange chord that raised goose pimples on the Saiyan's bare arms as he approached the lights.

When he arrived at the source of the lights, Vegeta circled the massive spherical structure twice, peering inside windows and strolling across a huge deck, and he decided that there was nobody there. He fired a blast of energy at a wall of windows and went inside. It didn't take long for Vegeta to locate a large kitchen, and he easily located a massive collection of fine wines and liquor displayed in a climate-controlled walk-in cellar.

"Thank you for the provisions, Frieza!" Vegeta picked up random bottles of wine, returned to the kitchen, and started hurling bottles at the walls. Glass and dark wine splattered across white walls and marble floor, windows were shattered, and a particularly fine-looking tapestry on display in an adjacent dining room made by an unknown race (presumably long-dead by Freiza's order) was ruined in the process. He returned once more, taking wine that looked appealing, and continued through the house.

Everything was cold and white, like Vegeta came to expect. Rooms were sparsely furnished, some none at all, and aside from the tapestry that hung in the dining room there was no art to be seen, aside from the occasional set of black or purple columns placed near doorways.

"Hideous, all of it fucking hideous!" The Saiyan tipped over a glimmering black column and it crashed onto the floor, cracking into chunks. "No taste whatsoever!"

Finally, Vegeta came to a room featuring a row of four black seats set before a black desk with no seat behind it. The wall behind the desk had been replaced with a massive glass-covered fireplace, and when Vegeta noticed the tiny valves controlling the flow of natural gas, he had an idea.

Vegeta smashed open the wall cover, extinguished the pilot light located at the end of a thin copper pipe underneath a layer of glittering rocks, and turned on the gas so it started to fill the room. The Saiyan then threw another bottle of wine at a window to shatter it without resorting to ki and swiftly flew away from the building, his remaining two bottles tucked under his left arm.

Back on the other side of the lake, Vegeta concentrated, pointed two fingers at the building, and fired a thin, powerful beam of energy directly at it. Two seconds later, the building erupted into flames. Within three minutes, the fire was spreading so quickly and rising so high into night sky that Vegeta almost felt a little warmth reach his face. Five minutes later and Vegeta heard a small explosion and watched as the building was completely engulfed in flames.

Vegeta twisted the cork free from a bottle of wine and raised it in a silent toast. He grinned and took a long sip of warm, dark wine before taking a seat at the edge of the water.


	26. Old Comrades Overheard

For close to five days, Vegeta let the ship's fuel cells recharge. He tidied up inside the ship, displeased at his own disorganization and the amount of trash he'd allowed to build up. After searching for proper cleaning products and finding nothing, Vegeta also realized there was no way to get rid of the bloodstains on the bathroom tiles or in the shower and decided to just let it be. He burned anything that wasn't needed any more, deciding the smouldering ruins of Frieza's vacation house was enough blight for one planet. The Saiyan swam in the freshwater lake, ate several of the large, fatty fish that swam in its deepest areas, and spent hours basking under the hot sun.

Bulma sent him a time-lapse video of the skies directly above the Capsule Corp. Compound over the course of twenty four hours, which Vegeta studied for several hours before determining he could make it back within eight months. Vegeta would have to make at least three stops to PTO-controlled stations in order to re-charge the fuel cells, get food, and ensure he was following a navigable route. All in all, Vegeta felt confident he could make it back to Earth without any conflict.

He had trained for months, and Vegeta decided that nothing was going to phase him.

With his belly full of fish and sunburned skin fading into a deep tan, Vegeta boarded his ship and left 00-2A, the knowledge that he really was returning to Earth sinking in. I still haven't found Kakarot, he chewed his lower lip, there was no fucking mention of any other Saiyans... just the bullshit about me... I think my stops will include some parting words to any soldier that gives me trouble this time around.

Vegeta went down to his living area and looked through his gym bag. Some of his clothing was already looking worn from his furious training, and he noticed some of the t-shirts Bulma had purchased for him positively stank of old sweat. He looked through his vials and the medicines Dr. Zelen had given him and was pleased with how many painkillers, antibiotics, and healing balms he had left. He also had plenty of gauze and bandages to spare, although Vegeta told himself internally that he wouldn't be seriously wounded again.

When he dipped his fingers into a small zippered pocket in the side of the bag, Vegeta's fingertips brushed against Bulma's gold chain and the little golden arrow. He pinched the ends of the chain and pulled it free with his thumb and forefinger, like rodent's tail, and let it pour into his left palm. He recalled rifling through Bulma's drawers and sighed.

"If I return, I can't be so soft..." he put the chain back in his bag and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Even you need somebody to talk to, a voice that Vegeta swore sounded like a woman's seemed to drift past his ear, and when Vegeta realized a half second later that the voice had spoken in his native tongue the hairs on the Saiyan's arms stood on end and he bolted upright.

Vegeta went upstairs and turned on the scouter he'd wired into one of the ship's speakers. He turned the volume just high enough that there would be a constant, soft noise in the background. I'm going insane, Vegeta thought, I haven't touched anybody or anything with warm blood in so long...

For eight weeks while en-route to his first scheduled destination, Vegeta trained and make sure to take breaks in order to conserve power as best he could. He kept the ship dimly lit and started to shower every other day. When he wasn't training, Vegeta listened to nearby soldiers and stations communicating over PTO lines and longed for useful information or a piece of particularly good gossip.

After eight weeks and five days, Vegeta finally heard a somebody familiar come through the speaker. He raced over to the central computer and turned the volume up so he could hear that baritone voice he could recall speaking with at length as a younger man.

"This is Jabuka speaking, I repeat, this is Jabuka speaking. Seeking mechanical assistance with pod number 825-738AH. Also seeking medical assistance. Situation is currently stable but serious... both pod and occupant. Currently en-route to Planet 325-K. Requesting an emergency landing, is there any station that can accommodate this request?"

Several seconds passed in tense silence. Vegeta dug his fingernails into his forearms.

"Request granted. This is Station 62, located in central northwestern hemisphere. Can you pinpoint the location?" A smooth feminine voice replied to Jabuka.

More silence. Vegeta found himself grinning and anticipating a stimulating confrontation.

"Location found and locked-on. I'm about twenty eight hours away and will hooked onto life support when landing is made. Please inform medical staff of my arrival. Thank you."

"Confirmed. We're awaiting your arrival, Jabuka. Safe travels, soldier."

Jabuka's scouter cut out and Vegeta had to stifle a cackle. He redirected the ship to Station 62 on planet 325-K and found he was thirty three hours away. This time he laughed out loud and leaned back in the pilot's char, stretching his arms high above his head.

"This is perfect," he sighed, "he'll get out of the medical wing and I'll be there, waiting for him!"

* * *

_The transit ship's heating system was malfunctioning again, making the cramped sleeping quarters so hot that Vegeta's skin had a constant film of sweat. In just his underwear, Vegeta lay stomach-down on his thin, hard mattress, staring at the steel wall inches away and desperately trying to make the racing thoughts in his head stop long enough to let him sleep. Ever since his seventeenth birthday, Vegeta had felt more aggressive and angrier than ever, and insomnia suddenly became a part of his life. Despite his ability to sometimes will himself to sleep, there were nights that he simply couldn't sleep no matter how hard he tried._

_Eighteen inches to his side, Raditz softly snored, curled up on his side with his hair tied into a thick braid for the sake of comfort. They'd been ordered to rest some five hours earlier, and for close to five hours Raditz had slept contentedly while Vegeta tossed and turned, his eyes burning from exhaustion and anxiety._

_Just outside the thin metal door, a group of drunken soldiers laughed and shouted, their speech so slurred that Vegeta was unable to make out a damn thing they were saying._

_Vegeta rose out of bed, pulled on his blue leggings for modesty's sake, opened the door, and snarled at the soldiers, "go away! There are some of us that need to sleep!"_

_"Whatever, monkey," a tall soldier leered at Vegeta, "we're just chillin' for a few minutes. Go back to bed, kiddo."_

_Shrieking with fury, Vegeta brazenly fired at soldiers with all his might and left nothing but pieces of their bodies by the time he was finished. Raditz and other sleeping soldiers rose out of their narrow beds, ran out of their sleeping quarters to see the commotion, and were all horrified to find the young Saiyan panting and screaming in his native language, totally out of his mind with rage._

_"Raditz..." Vegeta looked back at his comrade, eyes blank and glassy, "I want to fucking sleep right now," the Saiyan continued to speak his mother tongue, "get me some cold, wet towels at once. And if any of you assholes make any noise," Vegeta switched to the Galactic Standard and scanned the faces of the stunned soldiers, "I'll kill you too. Trust me when I say you are all expendable."_

_Exhausted, the young Saiyan prince went back into his sleeping quarters, pulled off his leggings, and lay on his bed. Raditz returned a few minutes later with three hand-towels he'd soaked in cold water and wrung out until just dripping, which Vegeta draped across his chest and forehead._

_Another hour passed before Vegeta finally drifted off and he managed to sleep five hours before being awakened by Nappa in order to receive upcoming mission details. For his trouble, Nappa earned a black eye and a knee to the groin._


	27. With Malice Aforethought

A portly, red-faced humanoid with a wide nose and thin lips picked up a distress signal from an incoming pod and raised the alarm for medical and mechanical personnel to prepare for an emergency landing.

Jabuka had hooked himself onto the pod's life support system many hours prior, unable to bear the pain of his broken bones nor the anxiety that internal bleeding would kill him before he made it to a clinic any longer. His body put into stasis and unable to hear, speak, nor see, but with his mind still painfully aware of his battered state, Jabuka hung in between life and death, respirator breathing for him and the strangely sweet and metallic oxygen it delivered completely paralyzed his body.

His dark pod sent out a constant distress signal to the base it approached, and Jabuka hoped the soldiers at the base would pull through and get him out of the pod and to a good doctor as quickly as possible.

_I can't die yet. I can't die yet. Too young. Plans to fulfil... places to go... if there's a god, don't let me die yet!_

Jabuka's didn't feel the landing, and he couldn't feel medical staff extracting his limp body from the pod, but for a few moments he _swore_ that he could sense the energies of the medical staff, and he welcomed their presence. He could also sense a dark and foreboding energy rapidly approaching, and all Jabuka could do was hope that it was a hallucination.

* * *

Five hours and forty seven minutes after Jabuka had arrived at Station 62, Vegeta landed his ship ten kilometers south of the station and began a steady but slow approach towards the station. He could sense an overwhelmingly average group of energies; likely consisting of soldiers, service people, technicians, doctors, and mechanics. None of them would present him any trouble, and he'd be able to cut through the lot of them without much effort.

Station 62 was situated in an expansive, low valley located in between two massive mountain ranges. The sun hung almost in very centre of the sky when Vegeta landed, and the knee-high crimson grass of the valley was in sharp contrast to the cloudless cerulean sky.

The Saiyan reached the station and decided to go in through the most direct way he could imagine- the pod docking bay. They were always wide open, and in Vegeta's opinion, just begging to be exploited.

He flew in, practically dive-bombing the area and flinging blasts of explosive energy towards a group of panicked mechanics.

"We're under attack! Repeat, Station 62 is under attack! Soldiers, assemble!" A mechanic screamed down the communication line of his scouter before being shot down by a hot burst of energy, his body incinerated in a second.

When Vegeta was met with a group of fifty terrified soldiers, he continued his psychic assault on them, noting he moved with greater precision and an increased flexibility in his hips. In all, Vegeta blasted through the station in about half an hour, deliberately leaving the medical wing alone.

The Saiyan finally stormed into the medical wing and a chorus of screams and pleas for mercy erupted in seconds, making Vegeta smile and cackle with delight. "Leave now with your lives! Go! Leave the soldier in the healing tank be!"

Dozens of doctors, medical technicians, and patients scrambled through the medical wing, desperately quarreling amongst themselves to be the first to leave and aiming to avoid Vegeta's direct attention in the midst of all the chaos. In a large healing tank, a battered Jabuka recovered, his bruises fading and broken bones quickly mending. Vegeta took a seat at a technician's monitoring station, leaned into the high-backed chair and brought up Jabuka's progress in the healing tank. He had about six hours left, which meant Vegeta could eat something decent and take an extended nap.

He found fresh food, mostly fruits and a vat of a porridge made from the seeds found in the grasses surrounding the station in the base's kitchen, along with plenty of rations, dried meats, and a small selection of imported drinks. He heated up three packets of rations, took a container of berries, a packet of dried meat, two bottles of carbonated water, and headed back the medical ward to monitor Jabuka, who continued his gradual progress towards good health in a way that made Vegeta feel relaxed and prepared for what was to come.

* * *

Jabuka could no longer sense the helpful energies. He could, however, sense the dark energy, and he felt as though it were sitting right beside him. Unable to see and unable to speak, Jabuka continued to hang in the no-space and struggled to keep from panicking.

After eating, Vegeta took a brief shower and changed into clean clothing and new armour. Despite being out of fashion, the Saiyan found himself preferring the models of armour that did not feature the oversize shoulder pads or hip pads. I wish they would have kept the knee bracers, Vegeta thought as he wiggled into his new clothing, those were more useful than the stupid hip pads will ever be...

Hours passed. Vegeta dozed off and slept lightly, eyes opening slightly at the tiniest creak, and he woke up properly ten minutes before Jabuka was set to re-awaken and emerge from the healing tank. The Saiyan waited for him in the hallway outside the medical ward.

How he wanted to fight.

* * *

As Jabuka regained the feeling in his body and his senses returned, the presence of a dark energy faded. Maybe it was just a hallucination or side-effect of the anaesthetic, thought Jabuka, shivering as the warm fluid drained away from the healing tank. Jabuka emerged to a scene of utter carnage and devastation, the smell of smoke, burned wires, blood and death thick in the air.

Cautious, Jabuka pulled on a new uniform and tried to make sense of the deserted clinic. He slowly moved through the clinic and found nobody. Heart pounding with terror, he opened the doors to the main corridor outside the clinic and stumbled onto a gruesome scene of brazen destruction. The bodies of soldiers lay strewn through the hallway, many missing limbs, some missing their faces or entire heads, and a few more reduced to naked torsos and spilled intestines, their bodies completely torn apart by the ferocity of Vegeta's assault.

"Oh, my god..." he whispered, "the fuck happened here? What the... what the fuck? This isn't... oh god... no, no, no..."

Vegeta heard Jabuka muttering to himself leaned against a wall, arms folded across his chest. All Jabuka needed to do was walk another fifteen feet, and he'd practically run into the Saiyan prince.

When it did happen, Jabuka's face did not reveal the extent of his terror. Stone-faced, he looked the Saiyan up and down before finally gathering the courage to speak: "I should have known it was you behind all this, Vegeta. Only you could do something so senselessly evil."

Vegeta gave Jabuka a firm nod and his crooked grin grew large. "Hello again, Jabuka. Feeling better now? I specifically avoided the clinic so you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Besides, I'm sure there's a few out there even more evil than I..."

Scanning the damaged hallway for an immediate exit and finding none, Jabuka realized he'd simply have to face Vegeta head-on and hoped the odds were still in his favour, despite the rapidly growing realization that he very likely didn't have a chance of surviving a fight with Vegeta any more. An entire decade had passed since their last spar, and Jabuka knew Vegeta was no longer a little boy or even an adolescent- he was a full grown man, heavier with muscle and his figure cut from intense training.

"What's this about, Vegeta? Why this violence? Surely you could have let them live..."

Vegeta clicked his tongue against his teeth and leaned deeper into the wall. "Some of them are running for their lives right now, and some are dead now. That's how it goes! And what does it really matter? I'm interested in _you_ , Jabuka."

The older warrior tried to control his breathing, heart pounding into his throat and knees suddenly weakened with fright. "W-why's that, Vegeta? Haven't you done enough to me? You drugged me and robbed me blind! I-I- I just escaped a botched mission! My pod was attacked as I left a... please, Vegeta... don't do this!"

"Mm," Vegeta finally stood straight, arms still folded across his chest, "I really don't care if you just had a fuck-up of a mission. That's your problem, not mine. Shit happens, and I've been attacked right after getting out of a healing tank in the past, so I have little sympathy for you right now. Always be ready to fight! Honestly, I'm just in need of a good fight. It's been too long since I killed and my need to do so right now is just overwhelming. You happened to be passing by and I picked up your distress signal, so I jumped at the opportunity to a re-match with you and followed you here. Are you scared, Jabuka?"

_He really is a fucking psycho..._

Jabuka couldn't bring himself to nod. The soldier refused to give the Saiyan that much satisfaction. He stared at Vegeta, wide-eyed and trembling, and followed the Saiyan when he motioned to an exit. He was silently led away from the base, part of its roof having collapsed during Vegeta's attack, and barely managed to steady himself before the Saiyan attacked, a ragged howl filling the air as he lunged at his target.

It would all be over before Jabuka could even summon the power to defend himself. A barrage of punches, kicks, and elbow jabs hit his body dozens of times in the space of a few seconds, and the just-healed internal injuries returned and were made worse by the Saiyan's assault. Blood poured out his nostrils and dribbled down the corners of his mouth.

A hard kick to Jabuka's mid-back was enough to bring him down. Something just broke, thought Jabuka, as he fell to the ground and found he couldn't get back up. Unable to feel his legs and coughing up a mouthful of blood, Jabuka struggled to prop himself up on his elbows and watched in horror as Vegeta languidly approached him with a twisted smile across his face.

This is it, thought Jabuka, I'm done for...

"Any last words?" Snarled Vegeta, bringing his boot over Jabuka's throat and just holding it there.

Jabuka smiled, sighed, and coughed on more blood rising up his throat as the internal bleeding progressed. "It's all over so soon... but at least I can rest now, and I'll see my brothers. I'm no good guy, but I die today with a clear conscience. Well played, Vegeta. You really are on your way to being the most powerful being in the galaxy. It will be such a lonely position to maintain."

With those words, Vegeta found himself unable to lower his foot onto Jabuka's throat. He stared at Jabuka's blood-streaked face and stepped away from his old comrade, gazed at the huge sun now sinking behind the mountains, and sat beside Jabuka. The sky started to turn red and hazy.

"You robbed me. You drugged me. Vegeta... I thought of tracking you down... but as time passed... my efforts appeared so futile that I chose to move on... revenge is so often just a pointless expenditure of energy... and ruminating over old wrongs will never right misdeeds of the past..."

"Says you, Jabuka. My revenge is just getting started."

Jabuka turned his head to the side and he coughed up at least a half pint of blood, his teeth and lips stained deep red. "You have," he wheezed, "much to learn yet. You are still very young..." Jabuka spat out saliva and blood, "and you are so alone through it all. Aside from that tenacity and your skills as a warrior, Vegeta, I don't envy you whatsoever..."

"I don't need anybody," Vegeta muttered, gaze still focused on the sunset, "I can do fine for myself."

The tall, handsome warrior wheezed and croaked as he tried to laugh, ultimately groaning in agony when his broken ribs shifted, "if you... insist. Never have I met such a wounded, isolated spirit... good luck, Vegeta. I... heh..." he gagged and blood oozed from his broken nose, "it is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" Jabuka watched the sunset in silence for a few minutes before his eyes went out of focus, he went limp and fell back, his breaths rattling, and finally his eyes went blank and all movement ceased.

A warm gust of wind whipped through the valley. The sun sank underneath the mountains and stars began to glitter in the darkening sky. Vegeta finally looked at Jabuka's body and gave him a slow, firm nod- a curt sign of acknowledgement and even a little respect.

Vegeta closed Jabuka's blank eyes, adjusted his arms so they draped across his stomach, stood up and backed away by several feet. With a final nod, Vegeta fired a direct blast of intense heat at Jabuka's body and turned it to ash in seconds.

For many hours, Vegeta watched the stars turn in the velvety black sky, haunted by Jabuka's final words. As the sun started to re-emerge and the skies were streaked with green, blue, and orange, Vegeta returned to his ship and set off, continuing towards his first "official" stop on his journey back to Earth.


	28. Feeling Stuck

After his brief stop on Planet 325-K, Vegeta continued on to his first "official" stop. It took eight weeks to reach Station 15-J, an outsize but sparsely staffed station that boasted a huge hospital, food stores, and little else. Vegeta wasted no time in docking, storming the food storage area, and commanding the low-ranking soldiers (all of whom wanted to avoid Vegeta's wrath) to start gathering supplies and line them up at the docking station for inspection.

The Saiyan's one-man raid took all of forty five minutes to successfully execute; he shot down anybody who so much as looked at him strangely and found that most on-board the station were more than willing to co-operate with his demands. As a dozen horrified soldiers lined up food at the entrance to the docking bay, Vegeta ordered a small group of nurses and doctors to collect medical supplies, medicines, and some spare bed linens and towels.

"The rumours are true, then..." one soldier muttered to a comrade to his left as he set a box of rations down, "Vegeta's alive and well..."

Vegeta heard this, approached the soldier, and gave him an almost gentle tap on the shoulder. "If I were you, I wouldn't believe anything Frieza or his men say. Now get back to work, soldier."

The station gave him good rations and proper medical supplies, enough that Vegeta could easily survive six or seven months on the food and treat minor injuries and infections on his own. He inspected everything for any weapons, bombs, living creatures, or otherwise _undesirable_ things he wouldn't want aboard his ship. With the food and linens, he basically threw onto the ship as quickly as possible and didn't care where it landed. With the medical supplies, Vegeta had things put into thin boxes which he carefully stacked and carried up himself, taking two trips to carry it all.

After he'd taken everything the soldiers and medics had delivered to the docking bay, Vegeta promptly killed two thirds of all present and looked over the remaining terrified few through seemingly lifeless, icy eyes. "Consider yourselves lucky."

He boarded the ship and took off just as quickly as he'd arrived. Once he'd organized the ship and his new supplies to his liking, Vegeta checked his on-board power supply and was pleased to find he still had just under three-quarters of his reserves available.

After killing so many, Vegeta had to sit still and let the silence penetrate his thoughts. At one point, he leaned forward in his chair and brought his hands over his face.

* * *

Leaning back in her high-backed chair, fingers interlaced at the back of her head, Bulma mulled over how exactly to draw the pattern for her re-design of the Saiyan armour Vegeta had pulled off Raditz' rotting corpse.

She'd spent weeks studying the materials, fascinated by its durability and flexibility. It was lightweight and get wet even when submerged underwater for hours at a time, and its strength was phenomenal. The textile felt almost rubbery to the touch, but it was of withstanding extreme temperatures and seemed capable of wicking away perspiration. After testing twenty nine different formulas, Bulma managed to replicate the textile used to make the armour and produced several yards of silvery fabric to work with.

"This stuff is incredible..." she mused, "if I just figure how much material to use and how to fuse it all into a wearable design, a new kind of bulletproof vest could be developed... protective gear for contact sports... mouth guards... helmets..."

Bulma had taken to working twelve-to-fourteen hour days after she and Yamcha had decided to try living together in one of the guest houses at the Capsule compound. She cared about the man immensely, but the older they got, the less they had to talk about. Nobody could ever accuse Yamcha of treating Bulma cruelly, but it was increasingly difficult for them to carry on an in-depth conversation. Yamcha routinely admitted he couldn't understand and didn't always care to hear about Bulma's scientific research, while Bulma was bored by Yamcha's constant baseball talk.

Still, she wanted to make it work with Yamcha. They'd been together since their teenage years and had experienced so much together, both risking life and limb to find the Dragonballs and making huge sacrifices to help their friends. Both trusted each other with their lives and well-being, but Bulma didn't entirely trust Yamcha when it came to other women. She didn't even like it when he so much as looked at another woman.

_Maybe I'm just jealous, but he's also slipped up a few times. But he's never had any side-girlfriend or anything... I've already checked. He's kind of awkward, so who's going to actively pursue him? Ugh, I am over-thinking this! Yamcha's just a goofy flirt and the only reason any girls go after him is because of his baseball career! Then they talk to him and realize he's a dork!_

_...hmm, I wonder how Vegeta's doing. I could use his assistance with this armour, see what he thinks..._

She sat up straight and reached for her cigarettes. After two drags, she leaned back again, shut her eyes, and her train of thought resumed.

_Why do I even like him? Wait, do I even like him? He's weird, even by alien standards. And he's an asshole! He's utterly repugnant, wicked, and awful! He is so fucking mean half the time, barking at everybody and giving off that absolutely terrifying vibe, but then he'll say something or do something oddly helpful... and even kind... well, sometimes. But he actually listens to me when I talk about my projects. And comments on what he understands or... can even expand on, given his background._

_...and I still can't figure out why my mom likes him. But he did help her carry those big planters across the garden that one time. And he eats everything she puts in front of him._

_...ugh, he's SO weird._

_He's not good-looking, either. Or is he? I can't tell sometimes. He's fascinating to look at. The hair is pretty strange, and yet he's oddly handsome... his facial expressions are great. So is that body._

_But he's SO weird..._

* * *

Vegeta lay back in his bed, lazily munching on his third re-heated ration post-training and watching one of the films Bulma had put on the hard drive connected to his living-area's television. He had several weeks to go until his next stop, and if he continued to make good time he'd return to Earth within four months.

He'd become isolated again; typically ignoring Bulma's calls and only scanning the scouter feed twice each day. He continued to train diligently and took good care of his body, actually taking time off when he injured himself instead of trying to train through the pain, even if it was just for six or eight hours.

When the film paused itself and the incoming call signal reverberated through the ship, Vegeta reluctantly accepted the call. The screen switched from the paused film to a slightly grainy image of Bulma, who had her hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail and cigarette clamped between her front teeth. She looked exhausted.

"What now?" Vegeta put his ration on the beside table and lazily rolled over on the mattress until he sat upright.

"Hey, Vegeta," Bulma took a long drag off her cigarette before putting it in an ashtray off-screen, "just checking in. It's nice to see you taking it easy for a change. How's the power situation on-board?"

"It's fine. About seventy two percent. I checked a few days ago."

"Oh, good to hear," Bulma ran a palm over her scalp, pushing down any stray hairs coming free from her ponytail, "I've been pulling some marathon hours at work for the last while, and I'm totally bushed from being at the lab all the time. I just wanted to let you know that I've successfully synthesized the material used to make that armour you wear. You wouldn't know how it is pieced together in order to make a set of armour, would you? There's no way that armour is sewn together."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and mimicked Bulma's action, pushing his own hair back and noting that he needed to take a shower. "Pieces are fused together using a small, concentrated heat source. It might be a laser, come to think of it. PTO soldiers often made quick repairs to armour with minor damage using an adjustable flare and a lot of patience. It's on you to figure out how to hold the pieces still long enough to fuse the fabric together, and I don't recommend trying to do it by hand."

"Naturally," she laughed and leaned back in her chair, "other than that, how are you faring out there?"

"Doing fine. I make my next stop in about six weeks. Until then, I haven't much to do except train, sleep, and make my way through these strange Earthling films you gave me."

"What are you watching now?"

"Uhh," Vegeta tried to recall the name of the actor, "somebody named Chaplin. There's no dialogue."

Bulma struggled to suppress her surprised laughter, finding the idea of the vicious Saiyan laying around in bed and watching a silent film absolutely hilarious, and managed to give Vegeta a firm nod. "Well," she nearly cracked up, "enjoy that movie! Would you mind if I called back in a few days to let you know about the armour? Your input really is a tremendous help."

"Sure," Vegeta shrugged, "but I may ignore you if I'm not in any mood to talk."

"Then I should have installed an answering-machine aboard that ship! Argh, you can be such a grouch! Look, I'm going to fall asleep in my chair any minute now if I don't get back to the house. Take care of yourself, Vegeta. And call any time you need. My Mom says "hi" as always."

"Mm," Vegeta moved his hands towards he disconnect button, "hello to her... I guess. Good night."

As usual, he disconnected before Bulma could reply. He flipped his pillows over, grabbed his rations, lay back in the bed and resumed his film. For whatever reason, Vegeta found human entertainment quite engaging, and he'd taken to watching a new film every few days; if nothing else, it kept his mind occupied and helped him to resist sliding into the darkest parts of his mind.

After all, it was already bad enough that Vegeta felt stuck; no matter how hard he tried, he felt as though further progress towards becoming a Super Saiyan was out of his reach, and while it was hard to figure out which step to take next, he was even more frustrated by the fact that he couldn't figure out why he wasn't progressing any longer.

"Six weeks until my next stop..." he mumbled though a mouthful of food before swallowing, "so I'd better get through this plateau now."

The film ended and the credits rolled, and Vegeta progressed to the next title in the hard drive's catalog.


	29. Just Another Place To Rest

The door shut behind Bulma, completely exhausted from yet another week of sixteen-to-twenty hour days that alternated between the lab and the company boardroom, and she crept into the living room and quickly dropped into a chair, a short, weak sigh escaping her chest as her spine made contact with the chair's tall back.

She kicked off her shoes and drew her aching feet onto an ottoman, flexing her cramping toes. Eyes fluttering shut, she dozed in the dim room for many minutes before falling into a light sleep.

_The guest house was dark. Bulma sat up, looked around the living room, and called out into the silence: "hello? Anyone there?"_

" _Don't just sit there, woman, go eat and sleep before you burn out completely! Or do you intend to make yourself useless?" A harsh, husky, and certainly familiar voice reverberated through the room._

_Bulma stood at attention and eyes darted around, searching for the source of this voice and stomach clenching with fear when she couldn't locate the man who spoke._

" _You look like shit. Get some sleep, you stupid woman!"_

_A slender young man with bright almond-shaped eyes, a small, slightly upturned nose, tanned dewy skin, and wild hair the colour of espresso seemingly materialized on the couch across from her and a familiar smirk flashed across his face._

" _...Vegeta?"_

_The man responded by flicking his tail and smirking once again. "Clever woman. Even I would opt to sleep more than you've been lately. What's the point of running yourself so damn ragged? You can't be making any real progress- think about it..." his lips pursed and his left brow rose slightly._

_Taken down by a mere expression, Bulma felt as though she couldn't breathe. Why did he look so young and why had his tail grown back? Had he returned early and come to take her by surprise?_

" _Go and eat, and then go and sleep. You'll be sick in the morning, and then you'll sleep all day long."_

" _Wait, what?" Bulma leaned across the coffee table separating them, reaching out to touch him, and he vanished into thin air._

Bulma woke up abruptly, eyes burning with exhaustion, and she immediately looked around the room to locate Vegeta before remembering he was very far away from Earth.

"Ugh," she rubbed her temples and stumbled to her feet, "I feel terrible..."

She staggered upstairs to the master bedroom and collapsed in her bed. Bulma hadn't even noticed Yamcha playing video games in the rec room across the hall.

* * *

When Bulma woke to the sound of her alarm at 5:15 AM, the first thing she did was squeeze her eyes shut and wince in pain, full extent of her migraine hitting her full-force now that she was conscious. Suddenly, Bulma knew she had to get up and stumbled into the en-suite bathroom, vomiting into the sink and opting to keep her eyes shut.

"Oh my god," her voice was a dull croak, "my head. Oh my fucking god..."

Yamcha's eyes snapped open and he practically jumped out of bed and made it into the bathroom, finding Bulma hunched over the sink, face blanched of colour and circles under her eyes the colour of a bruise.

"Don't even think of going into work today, Bulma," Yamcha brought Bulma into his arms, supporting much of her weight, and guided her into a small seat beside the bathtub, "you've been working way too many hours these past few weeks..."

"I know," she nodded weakly, "I'm going back to bed..."

"Ah, wai-wai-wait!" Yamcha whipped around and filled a small cup with water and guided it into Bulma's hands, "at least rinse your mouth first."

Yamcha managed to get Bulma to rinse her mouth before he helped her back into their shared bed. "You need to get some rest," Yamcha pulled the covers over Bulma and pushed some stray hairs from across her forehead, "or you're gonna burn out."

"Hmm..." Bulma's eyes shut, "y'gotta call the office... let'em know I'm sick..."

"I will at a normal hour, Bulma..." Yamcha returned to his side of the bed and lay down, "it's so early..."

Although Bulma immediately fell back asleep, Yamcha made a point of leaving a bottle of water, a bottle of fruit juice, and a small bottle of over the counter painkillers on Bulma's nightstand.

At four thirty in the afternoon, Bulma finally awoke and her headache had dissipated enough that she didn't feel nauseous when she left the bed. After taking two tablets with a half bottle of fruit juice, Bulma slowly made her way downstairs to find Yamcha playing a video game in the living room, the television's volume turned down so low that only the most percussive sound effects were still just barely audible.

"Bulma," Yamcha paused the game and practically jumped off the couch, "are you feeling a bit better? I called the office at seven thirty to let them know you wouldn't be coming in today."

"Hnnn..." Bulma wiped her brow, finding it a little damp, "thank you, Yamcha. I'll be alright, but I need to take time off. I'm totally exhausted."

"I'll go make you something to eat," Yamcha offered his seat to Bulma, "get comfortable, Bulma, it's about time you took some time to relax!"

Great, thought Bulma, I wonder how long it'll be before Yamcha and I find something to argue about?

* * *

On-board the Capsule Corp ship, things couldn't have been better, at least when it came to available power, rations, water supply, temperature, and material comforts. However, Vegeta felt like hell; he was tired, bored, and finally at the point where he was willing to admit that he was terribly lonely.

He was officially close enough to the solar system that Earth started to register on his navigation screen, and when he looked at the tiny dot at the far upper right edge of the screen a tendril of anxiety would creep up his spine, leaving him with gooseflesh and a frantic worry that he'd fail both components of his mission: he would neither locate Kakarot nor ascend to the legendary Super Saiyan state his rival had achieved.

His next stop was two weeks away.

It had been many weeks since Bulma had contacted him, and Vegeta didn't exactly know how to feel about it. On one hand, he could say it was nice to not face any interruptions, yet on the other hand Vegeta found himself wanting to speak with the engineer.

_Am I attracted to that human woman? She certainly is attractive, there isn't any doubt about that... but why am I longing to speak with her? What exactly would a pampered heiress and I have in common?_

_Maybe this is just my dick talking and I need to get laid. It's been... oh, god damn, how long has it been, anyway?_

_...but then again, I do think of her often. And I've never thought about anybody the way I think about her. If she were to just shut her mouth a bit more often, the notion of spending a little time with that woman becomes very appealing._

_What am I going to say to her when I return to Earth?_

_Why should I say anything to her when I return? I don't owe her a damn thing. If anything, she owes me a great deal! The compound where she lives with her ridiculous family is just another place to rest._

_... I wonder if Kakarot has returned to Earth, and has told Bulma to refrain from contacting me so he can take me by surprise..._

_... I should call her._


	30. Exhaustion

Although she was reluctant to admit it, Bulma was starting to enjoy taking some time off. After her sudden illness she really had no choice but to stay at home and recuperate, and despite some initial resistance, she'd come to appreciate sleeping in and relaxing. For the most part, Yamcha was attentive; he knew when to hang around and when to give the engineer space, but Bulma still found she didn't want to spend a great deal of time with her boyfriend.

On the third day of her ten day sick leave, Bulma heard from Vegeta. She was lounging on the living room couch, binge-watching a television program when the familiar incoming signal tone from the Capsule ship chirped on her nearby laptop. She moved quickly to accept the call and pulled herself into a cross-legged position on the couch and put the computer on her lap.

"Hello? Vegeta?"

Vegeta leaned back in the pilot's chair, arms folded over his chest, and gave Bulma his typical slow nod. "Hello," his voice was raspy and a bit breathy, "it's been a while."

Many seconds of silence passed. Bulma immediately noticed that Vegeta looked well, his face still thin and also pale from a lack of regular exposure to sunlight. Vegeta studied Bulma's face and noticed her complexion appeared dull and uneven. She looked very tired and somehow looked _older_ since he'd last seen her. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like the idea that she may be very ill and withholding information.

_Perhaps humans age especially quickly. How long is the average human lifespan anyway?_

"You look sick," he continued, "really, you look like hell. Like you haven't slept in weeks or something."

"Oh, thanks for that! You're so sensitive to how others feel, aren't you?" The engineer deflected the comment, deeply offended that Vegeta would say she looked terrible but also aware that he was right.

"Woman..." the Saiyan rolled his eyes and continued on, "you're the sensitive one! I'm just saying the obvious: you look terrible and whether or not you believe me, there's a place within me that has just a bit concern for you right now."

"Don't you dare _"woman"_ me, you pig! Ugh, how sexist! Vegeta, I can't believe you!"

"Wait, what? I don't underst-"

"Reducing me to a mere term like that?! Like I'm some kind of object? You're terrible!"

"Hey, just shut up for a minute!"

"Don't tell me to shut up, you prick! Did you call me just to insult me? Feeling a bit inadequate and need to feel better by knocking somebody else down, hmm?"

"You know what? Fuck this communication! I'm fucking done. Your dirtball of a planet showed up on my navigation screen today. _That's_ why I called! I've one more stop, then I shall return to your compound. Expect me within seven to nine weeks. Now go get some fucking sleep, you stupid bitch, you're acting even more ridiculous than usual."

Vegeta disconnected and swung around in the pilot's chair, stormed downstairs to his living quarters and started to prepare a small meal. When he turned on the tap and filled a glass of water, he noticed the water had become a cloudy and developed an unpleasant odour. I am not tasting this, if it smells this rank it's probably filthy, Vegeta decided, and he dumped the water back into the sink and instead took a sealed bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

After several minutes, Vegeta came to the terrible realization that if he was just noticing that the water smelled bad, it had probably been contaminated for a while by that point. Completely disgusted, he decided that the water supply on-board would be only suitable for the toilet from then on. He'd just have to go without bathing and simply rinse his face with a few tablespoons of water when it was absolutely necessary.

He waited for illness and diarrhea to come, but his condition remained stable. He took a medication packet soldiers relied on whenever they were forced to drink contaminated water, grateful for his meeting with Dr. Zelen and the lonely physician's generosity. Three days later, Vegeta noticed he was closing in on his final stop: Planet X-12B, a barren planet with a sky like slate and a distant sun that provided just enough bright, cold light for the miserable place to be considered livable by PTO standards. There were food and water stores in the planet's main base: Vegeta knew it was imperative he collect enough fresh water to last him for another two months.

"Let's figure six litres per day with up to four for drinking, one for food if need be, and one for washing," he paced the simulator and carefully calculated the total, determining he'd aim to collect at least three hundred and thirty litres of water in total.

He brought the ship in for a gentle landing near the main base, ensuring he caught the attention of guards and traffic control agents in the process. As he exited the ship, he felt himself going oddly numb. He continued walking up towards the base and soon encountered an approaching line of scouts, their weapons drawn and aimed at the Saiyan.

"Stop right there, Vegeta! You're surrounded!" A scout at the very front of the line shouted, his bird-like beak snapping with disgust for the Saiyan in the process.

"Oh yeah? Guess I am..." Vegeta scanned the line of scouts, recognizing them as members of a rather weak species that wouldn't pose any real threat. Amused by their posturing, he looked the bird-men over and started to wonder what they tasted like. "Alright," Vegeta breathed deep, right into his belly, and started to concentrate a hot current of energy that started in his gut and flowed up his torso and into his right hand, "think fast!" He jumped high into the air, hurled the glowing red ball of energy at the line of scouts, killing them instantly with an intense wave of incredible heat that burned away feathers and cloth and blanched the colour out of their beaks.

When Vegeta landed back on the ground, the smell of burned feathers and charred skin was heavy in the air. He continued moving on towards the base, cutting down anybody in his path with blasts of searing hot energy.

_Water. Food. Shower. Eat._

He silently moved through the base, mindlessly killing anything that moved.

More soldiers approaching, screaming at him to stop. He didn't even bother looking at them as he blasted them away. It wasn't long before Vegeta had totally lost count of how many scouts and soldiers he'd killed.

_Water. Food. Shower. Eat._

He found pallets of bottled water, figured each bottle contained two litres of liquid, and added up how much he'd take. In a cold store room, he packaged food and preserved meats. Head buzzing, he indexed this new information and moved from the storage warehouse to the base's medical center to shower, clean any wounds, and take a selection of their supplies.

The warm water pulsed on his back, easing tense shoulder muscles and making the Saiyan shut his eyes and hum with pleasure. He washed leisurely, lingering in the steamy shower for a good forty minutes. He took the time to clean some scratches and scrapes he'd received during the attack he couldn't even recall executing, dusted his body with a scented powder that would help keep his skin dry, and dressed in a new, clean PTO uniform and light armour.

Vegeta wound up eating the leg of a scout who had been burned in the attack. The flesh underneath the charred skin wound up being delicious; a bit greasy but very tender and mild-tasting. Perhaps a bit overcooked. After eating, Vegeta brought two pallets of water (totalling about five hundred litres in total) and several packs of packaged food to the ship. He returned to the base two more times, first to collect medicine and supplies, and once more to survey the base, pick up some extra clothing, and ensure nobody had survived. Stomach growling, Vegeta ate the legs from another dead scout before opting to change his outfit entirely once he spotted some grease on his new leggings.

He waited a few hours before leaving, hanging around the perimeter of his ship, ensuring there was no movement or new energies to be sensed. He checked the ship's power console and discovered the fuel cells still had around 40% life remaining, meaning the final leg of his journey would likely be unremarkable as far as his on-board electrical situation went.

New cargo reasonably secured, Vegeta took off from X-12B as quickly as he'd arrived, and headed into space on his journey back to Earth.

Unable to shower, Vegeta decided to make the most of his "just washed" feeling and chose to forgo training for a while. He went into his living quarters with a bag of crunchy snacks, a bottle of water, and put on a movie. After some time, Vegeta noticed there was a dull pain in his lower back, and he went upstairs to look through the medical supplies he'd stolen in search of a good painkiller. After finding a bottle filled with tablets of a powerful drug and taking one tablet, he returned to his living area and went straight to his bed.

Twenty five minutes later, Vegeta lay on his back, eyes shut and body completely relaxed. He found himself reminiscing about life a decade prior, as a twenty-one year old with far too much money and an-already notorious reputation as a relentless and merciless agent of Frieza. When he wasn't on a mission or in-transit, Vegeta divided his time between intense training and equally intense partying.

Fuzzy memories of purge missions and fuzzier memories of either dancing or starting fights in a loud, dark nightclub or filthy bar when he was on shore leave. Sharp images of himself as a young man, more slender and tail prone to giving away his emotions, entering a ring to battle an opponent three times his size and breaking the brute's neck within forty seconds. A hazy shred of a memory about a prostitute he'd hired once, recalling her shapely legs and round backside. A painfully clear memory of staring into a cracked bathroom mirror in a filthy tavern and weakly reassuring himself he wasn't all alone in the universe.

Eyes half-open, Vegeta watched the television screen for several minutes. In his final conscious moments before falling asleep for seven hours, Vegeta thought of Bulma and wondered if she'd be well by the time he returned.

* * *

Several days of rest had done Bulma a lot of good. On her fifth day off, Bulma remembered that Vegeta had told her he'd be back within two months, and she made a point of highlighting the three-week window he'd given her; those were three weeks she didn't want to leave the Capsule Corp unless absolutely necessary.

Lounging on the deck with a glass of iced tea and her third cigarette in a row, the scientist wondered if Vegeta had completely reverted to his evil ways during his journey, and started to dread his approach. He'd been so terrible during their last conversation and she hadn't called him back, partially due to the worry that he'd react badly, but also because Yamcha was often around the house as she recuperated and he'd also expressed his (natural) dislike for the Saiyan.

Bulma's phone vibrated on the glass coffee table beside her chair, she picked it up and smiled when a text message from Yamcha appeared in her notifications.

**Yamcha: Bulma, do u want 2 go see a movie? It is ur choice. :)**


	31. Uneasy Return

The evening had been a very long one for Yamcha, and it didn't appear that it would be ending any time soon. Eager to please Bulma during her time off work, Yamcha had offered to take her out for a movie and dessert afterwards. He'd sat through a historical romance film that was incredibly boring, to put it lightly, and was quite happy to move on to a small cafe that made a particularly good carrot cake.

"So," Bulma paused to take a long sip of cappuccino, " _you-know-who_ contacted me. Said he's on his way back."

"Ugh..." Yamcha fought the urge to curse.

"Vegeta gave me a time frame of about seven to nine weeks. He was in quite the shitty mood when he contacted me, too. Seems to have a real issue with women, on top of everything else."

Yamcha clenched his fists in anger and leaned across the table to reassure Bulma. "I'll stick around the Capsule compound for a while, then. The last thing I want is for that guy to hurt you, Bulma... I know what he's capable of. He's evil!"

Bulma reached across the table and put her hand in Yamcha's, "and you're so sweet, Yamcha. You know, maybe it's a good thing I took time off work; our relationship has improved, not to mention I feel and look a lot better too!"

Maybe things will improve, thought Yamcha, and we've just been through a really rough patch... yeah, things are bound to get better!

* * *

Eight weeks and four days later, on a bright Tuesday morning around ten thirty, the Capsule Corporation's second generation experimental spacecraft plummeted back towards the Earth and landed in the huge backyard with a deafening thud that triggered car alarms as far as five city blocks away and shook leaves off nearby trees.

During the final two weeks of Vegeta's travel, his available power started to deplete rapidly, and in a fit of panic the Saiyan made a point of turning off nearly all the lights, shutting off the water supply, and gradually bringing the gravity simulator to Earth's normal gravitational pull. He continued to train and relied entirely on bottled water and packaged rations for nourishment. Empty bottles served for waste, which he tried to keep hidden away in the by-then useless bathroom. As he approached Earth, he packed all his clothing back into his gym bag and divided the huge array of medical supplies he'd acquired during his travels into two large canvas bags.

When Vegeta managed to emerge from the ship, a bit stunned by the hard landing and the uncomfortable realization that he back on Earth for the third time, he coolly looked over the shocked Mrs. Briefs, who'd dropped a tray carrying tea and cake, and defensive, furious Yamcha sprinting from the main house to the backyard.

The scarred warrior dared to approach Vegeta as he descended the staircase, his teeth bared and eyes glimmering with anger. "You have a lot of nerve coming back here! Don't you dare do any harm to Bulma or anybody else here, you bastard!"

The Saiyan jumped off the crooked metal staircase and landed a few inches away. The human was tall and fit, but his body language gave away his terror and an unwillingness to fight. "I've no intention to do any such thing unless provoked, now get out of my way unless you _want_ to have harm done to you, and believe me when I say I know a number of ways to kill you very slowly and painfully."

"Vegeta! There you are!" Bulma approached, dressed in a short striped dress, red vest, trainers, and sporting perhaps the worst hairstyle Vegeta had ever seen in his entire strange life. When Vegeta noticed her face looked youthful and bright, he relaxed slightly but did not turn away from Yamcha. "I don't want any fights, you two! Break it up now!"

Vegeta took it as a cue to turn away from Yamcha, and the moment he turned his back on the warrior and focused on Bulma, he forgot about his desire to punch the scarred human in the face. He looked Bulma up and down, now that they were close, and he felt a strange flutter in his belly. "Um," he cleared his throat, "hello. I've returned."

"I can see that," Bulma titled her head up and narrowed her eyes at the Saiyan, "and to be honest, you absolutely stink. It's unreal how bad you smell. Come on, you need a shower!"

"That'd be nice," Vegeta replied, voice still soft, "I ran into some issues with the water supply on the ship," he followed Bulma and kept his eyes focused on the ground as they went indoors and upstairs, "and had to improvise when it came to hygienic matters."

"Yeah, well, we can take care of that later. Just shower and get settled," Bulma opened the door to the guest room Vegeta had used before. When Vegeta stepped into his bedroom again, his breath caught in his throat and he scanned the space, trying to recall if anything had been changed. The formerly white cotton bedsheets had been replaced with sheets of royal blue, something the Saiyan quite liked. Everything else appeared to have been kept exactly the same.

"Um, so your clothing situation isn't the greatest... you took a lot of t-shirts and what not," Bulma pulled up the blinds and opened the windows, "but we've got some stuff you can wear until your wardrobe can be replaced."

Vegeta moved into the washroom and found a well-stocked shower and clean toilet. He eyed his own reflection with suspicion and watched as Bulma leaned against the door frame to the washroom. She reached into her vest pocket and produced a small vial of a bright orange liquid.

"I managed to synthesize and produce a lot more the anti-bacterial compound you'd given me before you took off. This is a decontaminating gel I want you to wash with- don't worry, it's extremely concentrated. And it smells good. As a matter of fact, Vegeta, those vials of medications and items you gave me have inspired many projects at work... in a weird way, I can't thank you enough."

Something twinged inside Vegeta's chest and he couldn't bear to look at himself or the beautiful human in the mirror. "I need to shower," he rasped, throat tightening as he spoke.

"You sure do, buddy. Leave your clothes and armour outside and I'll wash them, okay? I'll leave some fresh clothes for you as well. One more thing," she smiled, "we're gonna start making some lunch soon, and it just so happens you came back in time for build-your-own-kebabs! Anyway, we'll be on the patio in about half an hour. Enjoy that shower!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes once Bulma had shut the washroom door. He removed his armour and clothing, flexed in front of the mirror, and confirmed that he really did look and smell disgusting. He tossed everything into a laundry basket, put it outside his washroom, and stepped into his shower.

The Saiyan watched with a bit of amazement and plenty of disgust as a trail of grey water ran from his toes to the drain. He used a generous amount of the gel Bulma had provided him and was quite pleasantly surprised to find out Bulma's formula of the decontaminating wash smelled good. He couldn't remember what they called it... lemon? Orange? The humans had so many different kinds of fruit, and he could remember enjoying all of the types he'd sampled last time...

He moved on to thoroughly washing his hair, using a bright green gel that smelled quite fresh and of mint (although the Saiyan didn't know what mint was at that time) and scrubbing his scalp until it nearly hurt. The water was hot and didn't show any signs of letting up, so Vegeta took the time to wash his face and every part of his body. After thirty of the most pleasurable minutes he'd experienced in more than two months, Vegeta rinsed off for a final time, shut the taps, and proceeded to wrap himself in a large, soft towel and move directly into his bedroom, collapsing onto his bed.

The warm breeze drying his skin felt incredible. The bedsheets and blankets were soft, and the room smelled good. Vegeta caught the scent of meat on a grill and his stomach rumbled. Real food, he thought, real fucking food!

As he moved off the bed and started to examine the pink button-up shirt and canary yellow trousers Bulma had left for him, upper lip curled over his teeth with complete disgust, an awful chill run up his spine and he sensed two truly sickening, dark powers approaching.

It can't be, he swallowed, Frieza's dead! I'm just getting one of my panic attacks. A cold drop of sweat rolled down his back. He forced himself to dress and moved downstairs to the patio, remembering the layout of the house quite well, and yelled as he came onto the patio, "what is this?! Why would you expect me to wear these colours? I look like... I look like something out of your mother's garden, Bulma!"

He hadn't noticed the script on the back, and was furious when Bulma, Yamcha, and the one called Krillin chuckled at the word "BADMAN" on the back of his shirt. None of the humans took Vegeta's anger too seriously and Bulma even laughed openly at his outfit, much to the Saiyan's displeasure, but the desire for good food was stronger than his mood so Vegeta quietly took a seat at the end of the table, leaving a space between himself and Yamcha.

"What do you want on your first kebab, Vegeta? We've got lots of marinated lamb, potatoes, onions, peppers, and mushrooms!"

"Surprise me," Vegeta said, distracted by the pig-man that offered him something to drink. He had sips of something called iced tea and the smell of lamb and potato over flame amplified his hunger to a critical level. The terrible feeling of two dark energies continued to ping somewhere in that unusual sixth sense he'd developed since his first landing on Earth.

He could only manage a few bites of his kebab as the energies grew even stronger.

* * *

Laying stomach-down on his bed, Vegeta tried to process his first day on Earth. After a hard landing (to put it lightly) and near fight with one of the human warriors, Vegeta had sensed the arrival of Frieza and his father, and after a dreadful race to meet the aliens, the Saiyan had then witnessed a supposed mystery Super Saiyan _and_ the return of Kakarot.

His head was spinning. It had all been too much for one day, and now at eleven thirty in the evening, the Saiyan tried desperately to slow his thoughts, wishing for proper sleep in a clean, comfortable bed. He'd convinced Bulma to let him retrieve his things from the ship in the morning, arguing that the ship was unstable after its hard landing and that he didn't want anybody else touching his things anyway.

In three years time, a pair of killer androids were set to kill him. The so-called Super Saiyan had left them with a dire warning to start preparing for the looming threat, and Vegeta had readily accepted the challenge. He _would_ ascend to the next level within the next three years, Kakarot and the purple-haired kid be damned.

"That kid didn't know what he was talking about," Vegeta muttered to himself and rolled onto his side, "he doesn't know a damn thing about me..."

A knock at the door. Vegeta gruffly told them to come in and make it quick. When Mrs. Briefs entered, carrying a mug of tea, some snacks, and a slim vase holding three daises on a tray, Vegeta felt his face redden slightly. He got onto his feet and watched Mrs. Briefs move into his room.

"Can I be honest, Vegeta?" Mrs. Briefs set the tray on Vegeta's desk and continued on before Vegeta could reply, "that outfit just doesn't work on you, sweetheart... but Bulma got a real kick out of that shirt and wanted to give it to you as a gift... don't worry, I'm going to take your measurements tomorrow morning and will pick up some new things for you to wear. You look like you lost quite a bit of weight during your travels... did you have a good time?"

"No," Vegeta took the sandwich off the tray and took a small bite.

"I'm sorry to hear that, honey. It was certainly quieter around here when you weren't around! Please, stay longer this time. We missed you! Breakfast is at eight. If you come down early, I'll get you the first cup of coffee from the percolator and we can get you measured before anybody else comes downstairs. Good night, sweetie!" Mrs. Briefs kindly patted Vegeta on the shoulder before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

So this is my life now, thought Vegeta, stranded again on a planet of weaklings, still not a Super Saiyan, and new battles looming on the horizon...


	32. Too Good, Too Nice

The sky turned light and Vegeta awoke naturally, momentarily forgetting where he was until the lingering smell of the shampoo he'd used the night before reminded him he was back on Earth once again.

He heard soft footsteps pass his door and guessed it was Mrs. Briefs on her way downstairs to the kitchen. Taking his time, Vegeta stretched and yawned, looked himself over in the mirror, and decided that the grey sweatpants, single pair of briefs, and a white undershirt he'd found in his set of drawers would have to do until the Briefs matriarch made good on her promise to bring him more clothing. He couldn't find the sandals he'd worn the last time on Earth and was unwilling to wear his boots.

Vegeta made his way downstairs a few minutes after Mrs. Briefs had, and he found her scooping fresh coffee beans into an electric grinder while humming a cheerful tune. "Good morning!" She turned on the grinder and seconds later the Saiyan caught the scent of coffee. Oh, how he'd missed that restoring drink, and he had never dreamed he'd experience a terrible headache when he first went without it for more than twenty four hours.

He took a seat at the table and his gaze shifted to the garden outside. There were thousands of flowers in a rainbow of colours in bloom, on the trees, in raised beds, and in pots on the patio. It was all so serene and beautiful, Vegeta had to ask himself if it was all real. It was all far too good for him.

"Come on, you! I need you to stand up so I can take your measurements!" Mrs. Briefs had started the percolator and produced a measuring tape from a drawer. Snapping out of his daydream, Vegeta approached her and allowed the woman to take his measurements, face burning when she knelt on the floor and measured his inseam. She measured him twice and recorded all the numbers, set her notepad on the counter, and took the time to pour two mugs of coffee and fetch cream from the refrigerator. Vegeta wasted no time in adding some cream and daring to take a sip of the steaming liquid.

"Mmm..." his lips curled up in a small smile when the taste registered, "alright, human, you've got me. I really missed this drink called coffee during my journey."

Mrs. Briefs managed a light laugh, a bit uncomfortable by Vegeta's reminder that he wasn't human. "Is that so? You know, it's still awfully early. I'm glad there's another early riser for a change! Everybody else won't be up for at least another hour... would you be willing to give me a bit of help outside, honey? It won't take more than twenty minutes, and you can bring your coffee with you."

She can't be serious, Vegeta asked himself as he struggled to maintain a composed facade, what is with this woman? Why is she always being so nice to me like this? It's weird. She must want to take advantage of me. That's it! She's trying to catch me off guard! ...I must watch her carefully and take this time to observe her. Get to know these humans a bit better so they can't trick me.

"Fine," Vegeta took another sip of coffee and followed the matriarch outside into the garden. He watched warily as she donned a pair of gardening gloves and a carried set of shears, and when Mrs. Briefs handed the Saiyan a flat wicker basket he physically recoiled and shook his head, "there's no way I'm carrying that thing!"

"Some of the flowers I'm cutting have thorns, Vegeta. You don't want to prick yourself!"

"Forget it. I'm not carrying that stupid basket and I'm not carrying your damn flowers either," the Saiyan sneered at Mrs. Briefs and turned on his heel, returning to the patio and plunking himself into a chair to finish his coffee. Why would I even agree to participate in something so ridiculous, he asked himself, I must not be thinking right! Maybe that landing did some damage...

He's certainly a moody one, thought Mrs. Briefs as she watched her guest take a seat at the table with his back slightly turned to her, and he didn't seem to achieve what he wanted after taking off for so long... guess we're all going to be encountering some mood swings for a while. Think... what would settle this? I think he wasn't very amused by the clothing situation yesterday. He seems like he'd be sensitive. ...maybe...oh, that's a great idea!

The family matriarch cut roses, daisies, peonies, coneflowers, and a half dozen poppies. As she came back up to the patio, Vegeta avoided looking at her and drained his mug of coffee. When she went inside, he waited a few minutes before returning to the kitchen. Damn coffee, Vegeta thought, feeling very bitter, it's forcing me to interact with her! He poured a second mug, added cream, and took a seat at the table. Mrs. Briefs stood at the counter, trimming extra leaves from the flowers she'd cut, and slowly arranged them in a heavy glass vase.

"Do you have a favourite colour or some colour preferences, Vegeta?"

"Blue. Black, dark green, grey. Dark colours. Only red and blue should be vibrant," he paused to take a sip of coffee and realized she was trying to learn about what kind of clothing he preferred, "and nothing extremely loose or stiff. I need clothing that can move with me."

"You got it. Just between you and me, I think Bulma should have found some better clothes for you," the older woman brought the flower arrangement to the table and set it in the centre, stepping back to check her work, "she tends to buy things with herself in mind."

The Saiyan laughed into his coffee. Why did she have to be so nice? He excused himself and went back outside, barefoot and still reeling from the past twenty four hours, and made his way to the ship. Vegeta opted to slowly fly into the ship and made his way into the living area with his feet several inches off the ground. He found his gym bag filled with old clothing, his ghost cards, the vials of drugs, swung it over his shoulder, and took the time to find the bags filled with all the medical supplies he'd collected during his trip. The reality of living on Earth for the next few years also meant there was a significant chance he'd fall ill at some time, and Vegeta did not want to leave himself entirely in the hands of human medicine.

It took ten minutes in total for Vegeta to collect the most important things from the ship. While inside he realized very quickly that the inside of the ship absolutely stank, and he decided it wouldn't hurt to give the Bulma and her father the courtesy of a warning and to proceed with caution.

He brought everything inside and went upstairs as quickly as possible without actually running or flying and put the bags of medical supplies at the very back of the closet. With his gym bag, he chose to place it on the desk and quickly sort through the contents. The clothing, by then worn out and sweat-stained, he tossed into a pile on the floor so he could dispose of it later. He took the ghost cards and vials of drugs and put them in a small drawer in his desk. While searching through the bag, Vegeta also found the few pieces of jewelry he hadn't parted with during his travels, and opted to put this in the drawer with his other small items.

When he finally returned to the kitchen, he found Bulma and Yamcha sitting together at the table, a very groggy Krillin pouring himself a cup of coffee, and Mrs. Briefs putting the finishing touches on an incredible spread she'd somehow prepared in the time he'd been gone.

"Have a seat, sweetie!"

"Sweetie?" Yamcha looked to Bulma with a raised brow and mouthed the word. The engineer only shrugged. Krillin slowly approached the table and took a seat across from Yamcha's, which meant Vegeta had to take the seat next to Bulma's.

Vegeta demanded another cup of coffee, and Krillin automatically rose from his seat and went to satisfy the Saiyan's request before he had time to express his displeasure. Vegeta took the mug from Krillin's hands with a grunt and returned his attention to the growing collection of dishes appearing on the table. There were huge serving dishes of pancakes, sausages and bacon, fried eggs, oatmeal, cold cereals, pastries, fresh fruit, toasted bread, jars of jam, peanut butter, and honey, containers of yogurt, pitchers of milk, orange juice, and mineral water, and a massive bowl of glistening fruit salad.

"You. Serve me," Vegeta passed his plate to Krillin without so much as acknowledging the man, "give me everything good."

"Ummm..." Krillin began to transfer slices of hot bacon and sausage links onto the plate, taking stock of everything on the table, "not all of these foods go on this kind of plate..."

"So? I gave you a plate, now fill it!"

"Well, uh, it's just... just give me your different dishes when I ask, and I'll serve you?" Krillin stopped putting pancakes on the plate and eyed the Saiyan, utterly terrified by what was happening.

"Fine. Just hurry up, I'm hungry!"

"Okay, okay! Jeez!" Krillin completed Vegeta's plate with six pancakes, eight slices of bacon, eight sausages, four fried eggs, and nervously passed it to the Saiyan using both hands, convinced his trembling would cause him to drop everything.

"Now, uh, give me that bowl and that smaller plate... do you want oatmeal or cold cereal?"

"Whichever provides more energy," Vegeta spat at Krillin. Finally, Bulma audibly cleared her throat and frowned at Vegeta with disapproval. Not in here, she warned him with her eyes. Rolling his eyes, Vegeta leaned back in his seat and started to eat what was already on his largest plate.

The rest of breakfast went a bit more smoothly once Vegeta had something to eat. He wound up eating a lot of everything, leaving only enough strawberry jam and honey for somebody to make a few sandwiches should they feel peckish at a later hour.

* * *

In the mid-afternoon, Vegeta wandered over to Bulma's lab after taking an extended nap. Seated at her desk with a huge stack of papers held together with paperclips and clamps, she was so focused on her work that she didn't even notice the Saiyan approaching until he'd cleared his throat.

"Hey!" She jumped in her chair, still unused to seeing the Saiyan in the flesh after he'd been gone for so many months, "what's up? My Mom should be back in a few hours. I know there's not a ton for you to do here today... been holding up alright?"

"Mm," he shrugged and leaned against her desk, "I took a nap. Human beds are comfortable. Actually, I came here to discuss some of the issues the ship experienced..."

"Would you mind holding all your thoughts until tomorrow? I want my Dad to hear all this too, but he won't be back until late tonight. To be honest, we're going to scrap that ship entirely. We've already started on the hull for a third generation ship and all your input would be a huge help."

"That's fine. By the way, I didn't shower for several weeks because all the water started to smell bad and looked contaminated. The entire ship smells awful. During my stops I collected bottled water because I knew something like that would happen eventually."

"Holy crap, Vegeta. That's disgusting. I'm going to take a close look at the plumbing and water recycling and purification systems on board now... thanks for telling me. Something went wrong, really wrong. I'm sorry about that happened to you, and I'm glad you had some alternate source of water on-board."

The Saiyan shrugged, "quit with the apology. It's happened to me before, to be perfectly honest. Transit ships tend to be pretty filthy places no matter what. How long will it be before you have another gravity simulator up and running for me?"

There was several seconds of tense silence. Bulma wanted to give herself a generous window of time to work with, but knew that Vegeta would grow impatient and upset if faced with the possibility of a long wait, and she did not wish to witness his vile temper.

"Um," she looked up at the ceiling and pursed her lips, "anywhere from two weeks to a month. And that's assuming my Dad and I work on it together for fifty hours per week at the very minimum. We're designing a gravity simulator that can go over one hundred times Earth's gravity right now- trust me, it'll be worth the wait. We have _some_ of the hull developed and the simulator's on the way, but there's much more to do. You're welcome to watch when it's safe for you to do so. I'll let you know."

"Very well. What facilities will you provide me in the meantime?"

"We have a deep indoor swimming pool on-site, plus the home gym was upgraded when you were gone. We have new weight machines and free weights for you to use, plus running trails, treadmills, and wall-climbing equipment. Um... my Mom wanted me to tell you that you're free to join her for morning yoga..." Bulma struggled not to laugh.

"For morning what?"

"It's a form of exercise that's very good for flexibility and has some mental health benefits. Many martial artists practice some form of yoga."

"Ah," Vegeta shrugged, "whatever, then. Where's your scarface boyfriend gone off to?"

"Ehh, Yamcha has baseball practice. Baseball is a team sport. He plays semi-professionally right now, and is pulling in a little bit of money this way."

"Uh-huh. And baldo?"

"He's left for a place called Kame House, in order to prepare and train for the arrival of the androids."

"It's probably for the better. By the way, why is your hair so hideous now?"

Bulma sucked in her breath through tight lips, eyes flashing with hot anger, and she fought the urge to stand up and slap Vegeta across the face. "It's called a permanent, and I'll have you know that it looks modern and very stylish! How rude!"

"It looks like a cross between spun sugar served on a stick and hair belonging to some kind of annoying, little animal."

"Hang on, you know what cotton candy is?" Bulma nearly forgot she was angry, completely taken aback by Vegeta's casual reference to a confectionery frequently associated with innocence and fun.

Vegeta grunted. "I suppose some things are universal. Look, I'm done here," he straightened his posture and eyed the lab door, "see you whenever."

Arms folded over her chest, Bulma watched the Saiyan leave, and ran her fingers through her hair once he was gone. "Doesn't know what he's talking about..."

* * *

True to her word, Mrs. Briefs had gone out and purchased a selection of clothing for Vegeta to wear, and had returned with casual clothing, active-wear, and a few dressy pieces. She'd even purchased him a new set of pyjamas. Almost everything was in darker colours; plenty of greys, navy blue, black, dark brown, maroon, red, and forest green. She'd even purchased footwear- athletic trainers, sandals, and a pair of slip on shoes.

It was all so nice. Too good for somebody like him. Vegeta looked over every item of clothing and took the time to organize everything into different drawers. Although he thought the pink shirt Bulma had given him was absolutely heinous, Vegeta took the time to put it on a hanger in the closet.

"It's a start," he murmured, quite impressed by the older woman's taste, "better than what I had before. I'll get the woman to make me some proper clothing for training and battle since she claims to have figured out how to reproduce PTO-issue armour."

He showered, changed into a pair of soft black sweatpants, a simple white t-shirt, and tried on his new sandals. Somebody had put a television in his bedroom when he'd been away, and it had only taken the Saiyan a minute to look over the controller and determine which buttons he needed to use. For half an hour, he flipped from channel to channel, still bewildered by much of human entertainment. He'd actually enjoyed some of the films that had been added to the ship's entertainment console, but he was very reluctant to tell any of his hosts.

"Humans are weird. They are so weird," the Saiyan shook his head as he watched a commercial for an exercise machine, "and weak."

He turned off the television, carelessly tossed the remote on his bed, and decided it was time to take a swim.

**To Be Continued**


	33. The Social Dynamic

On the fifth morning of Vegeta's second long-term stay on Earth, he awoke at five thirty feeling very alert and wasted no time in dressing and heading downstairs. He hadn't expected to find Mrs. Briefs already awake, clad in a bright pink racer-back top and black shorts and shifting into warrior pose. Vegeta noticed the petite, perky voiced woman on the television screen doing the same thing and struggled not to cringe.

_Oh, no. Count me out.  
_

He took a seat at the kitchen table, folded his arms over his chest, and shut his eyes. He'd wait until Mrs. Briefs was finished with her routine before demanding she prepare the coffee he liked so much.

Twenty five minutes later, Mrs. Briefs entered the kitchen and startled Vegeta out of his day dream with a cheerful: "good morning, sweetheart! Would you like some coffee?"

"Right away."

"You've got it," Mrs. Briefs pulled a bag of whole coffee beans from the refrigerator, "this is a very simple beverage to make, Vegeta. I could teach you how to make it so you can have a fresh cup whenever you like!"

Vegeta responded with a grunt and rose from his chair to observe Mrs. Briefs, keeping a metre away and his arms kept crossed the entire time. It was a simple task, Vegeta realized, there's no reason I should wait around when I could easily do it myself. I could have had a cup of coffee and moved on to swimming a few laps before breakfast!

"My secret to good cup of coffee is a dash of salt," the Briefs matriarch sprinkled a few crystals onto the percolator's full basket, "but I'm sure you won't tell anybody else about it," she winked and set the top on the percolator, "and now all we do is wait!"

Once again, the Saiyan responded with a grunt and returned to his seat at the table. Mrs. Briefs sighed and decided to take an indirect approach with her guest; she took to looking through the refrigerator for eggs and hamsteak before attempting to continue a conversation.

"How are the new clothes working out?"

"They're fine," Vegeta responded automatically, voice a disinterested monotone. He picked up a flier for a large grocery chain and started to flick through the colourful pages, bewildered by the sheer variety and volume of food they were advertising. He'd never seen anything like it before- sure, there were food markets all throughout the PTO's realm, but the Saiyan had never heard of huge indoor, climate controlled markets that weren't heavily guarded and closed to the public.

"That's good to hear. You know, Vegeta, since you're an early bird like me, I figured we could spend some time together going over some simple recipes, in case you get hungry when nobody's around."

"Absolutely not. What mind have you to suggest I should be forced to fend for myself while staying here? Do you not understand my presence here at least affords you some form of protection in the years ahead? That my hours will be occupied with training? That alone should require somebody cook for me whenever I so desire."

"Nobody's asking you to "fend for yourself", sweetheart. I'm just offering to teach you some simple recipes in case you get hungry and want to eat! The kitchen's open and free to everybody here, and you can always take as much as you like, whenever you like," the woman's voice remained perfectly calm and friendly, which left the Saiyan feeling increasingly unnerved, "just imagine if decided to train late into the night and wanted to eat, but found nobody here?"

With that final question, Mrs. Briefs had effectively shot down Vegeta's argument against learning to cook, and the Saiyan drained his cup before evasively admitting defeat: "you make a fair point. But this will not be a regular thing and I fully expect my main meals to be prepared for me as usual."

"Of course not! Now, do you want to start this morning, or another day?"

"Hngh," Vegeta looked at his empty mug, "I'm getting up anyway. What are you making?"

"How about a hamsteak, fried eggs, hash browns, and some toast? With all the coffee and orange juice you could wish for."

"It'll do. Just cook, and I'll observe."

He's agreed to this much. Work with his limits.

Mrs. Briefs smiled, face bright and welcoming, and cheerfully clapped her hands together, "that sounds like a fine idea, Vegeta! Once you get your second cup of coffee you can just hang back a few feet and watch me cook. Now, the first thing you'll want to do is preheat the oven to 450 degrees- you'll have the right temperature when the red arrow on the knob is almost to the top..."

With nobody else to disturb him, Vegeta quietly watched the woman cook, absorbing her instructions, and stored this new information in his memory. Within twenty five minutes, she'd prepared a filling hot breakfast that would keep his stomach full for at least an hour.

"This is good," the Saiyan commented through a mouthful of hash browns, "better than I expected."

"Good!" Mrs. Briefs beamed at her guest, "and you're so observant! I bet you learn quickly."

Vegeta swallowed his mouthful of food, struggling to suppress a shiver. What was it about this woman and her ability to just be so happy and bright? Aside from Bulma, she was the only person at the compound who didn't seem to be in the least bit intimidated by his presence.

"I suppose so," he coolly replied, "and what exactly is it you do? The old man, your husband, is a scientist and engineer, while your daughter appears to have followed in a similar line of work."

Mrs. Briefs finished her mouthful of food before speaking. Mr. Vegeta may be bright but he can be awfully brusque, she thought, he's not very good at socializing...

"Well, these days I do a lot of volunteer work, and we donate money to good causes... in a few hours I'm volunteering at a food bank."

"Volunteering."

"Yes! I certainly have the time now that my daughter's all grown up!"

Vegeta set his fork down and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. Briefs, growing suspicious of what she was telling him, "you're telling me that you go and work, for no pay, on a purely voluntary basis? To serve what cause, exactly?"

"To help others! There's an awful lot of people out there who can't afford enough food, even though they have jobs, and so we try to help them get through the days where they may not otherwise be able to afford to feed their families."

Slowly chewing a chunk of hamsteak while staring at the woman, completely baffled by her explanation, Vegeta shook his head. "Stupid, if you ask me. Unless you're getting something in return, why offer any kind of assistance? Fight and force yourself to get ahead or perish; that is the way things work everywhere else."

"Oh, Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs sighed, "if nobody's ever helped you without expecting anything in return, I am so sorry for you. What a hard life... well, I have to go and get ready. Don't worry about the dishes, I'll take care of them later! It's supposed to be a nice day, you should get out and enjoy it! Bulma and Yamcha were planning having a barbeque, so lunch will be covered, okay?"

The woman pushed her plate away and left the kitchen very quickly. Vegeta shrugged and continued eating.

* * *

By two in the afternoon, Vegeta had spent two hours in the pool and another three in the gym, alternating between free weights and the elliptical. The Briefs had installed a television in the gym, which the Saiyan decidedly kept off. He'd almost always trained in complete silence, more often than not completely absorbed in his own thoughts as he pushed his body.

He showered, changed into clean clothing, and went downstairs and outside to the patio to find Bulma, Yamcha and his talking cat called Puar, the pig called Oolong, and the bald one called Krillin setting the table for a rather impressive-looking barbeque lunch. There was a spread of grilled meats and vegetables, salads, bread, and a cooler full of drinks. Vegeta's stomach rumbled.

"Hey, Vegeta! We figured since our last barbeque was spoiled by some unwanted visitors from space, we'd have a bit of a re-do today!" Bulma waved him over to the seat across from hers, "you want something to drink? I'm getting a beer..."

"No alcohol. Give me water. Alcohol only on designated evenings now. I've already commenced my training regardless of the status of that simulator."

"Oh, okay... but, Vegeta, this is kind of a _social_ occasion... a special occasion, you know? We're all going to enjoy the day and hang out, and so we wanted to invite you too. Come on, it'll be good for you! And this evening, I can take you through the new simulator and show you what's been done so far."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at Bulma and drummed his fingers on the table, face cold. "Are you blackmailing me?"

"Absolutely not," she searched through the cooler and pulled out a bottle of beer and a bottle of water, "if you just want to grab something to eat and go elsewhere, feel free. Nobody's going to force you to do anything here."

With that, the Saiyan seemed to relax slightly and smirked at Bulma, "maybe a beer wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Alright, you're gonna hang out! Here," she fetched a bottle buried in ice, twisted the cap off, and handed it to the Saiyan.

"Uhhh... Vegeta! You drink?" Yamcha's voice was wary, and he briefly glanced at Bulma with disapproval flaring in his eyes.

"Uh-huh," Vegeta took a long sip and glared at the warrior, "what's it to you?"

Flustered, Yamcha's face started to redden and he tried to avoid the Saiyan's eyes, "well, uh, I just didn't know if, um, you know... whether or not you could process alcohol..."

"I have a liver, and right now I also have a growling stomach and temper about to boil over, so you'd best get my food together now and mind how you speak to royalty from now on," spat Vegeta, baring his teeth as he spoke to indicate just how irritated he was becoming.

When Bulma didn't really intervene or even warn Vegeta to cool down, the tension in the air grew just a little more thick. Oolong decided he'd avoid asking the Saiyan too many questions until he was very settled in and everybody was a bit more used to his presence.

* * *

After a large amount of grilled meat and close to two hours in the sunshine, Vegeta went to his room for a nap and slept for close to four hours. Eyes dry and groggy, the Saiyan stumbled out of the bed, stood before the bathroom mirror and blearily inspected himself, noting his skin seemed just slightly pink from all the sun exposure. He rinsed his mouth and splashed his face with cold water, willing himself to wake up fully and get on with the rest of the day.

What time is it, anyway?

He went downstairs and found the kitchen relatively quiet, aside from the hum of the microwave oven. He decided it was time to visit Bulma's lab, and when Vegeta overheard two voices, one male and one female, screaming and arguing very loudly, the Saiyan froze in place and stood there in the hallway, wide eyed and reluctant to come any closer before he could determine whether or not it was the kind of conflict he thrived on.

"And it's not like you even stood up for me today either! You just gonna let that asshole walk all over people, huh Bulma? All you ever talk about is... _oooh_ , the simulator, or _ooooh_ , the new drug synthesizer or whatever..."

Oh, it's just her boyfriend. I can approach.

"Synthesis, you dolt! Drug synthesis! And all you ever go on about it baseball and how you're gonna train _soooo_ hard for the next tournament! Ugh, Yamcha, get out of my lab! I'm trying to work, damn it! Go eat your stupid lasagna or whatever!"

"Fine!" The lab door whooshed open and Yamcha came face-to-face with Vegeta, imitated the Saiyan's scowl, and furiously stormed down the hallway.

Vegeta waited another minute before entering the lab, "I can see that I arrived at a very awkward time. You know why I'm here."

Bulma chuckled and pushed her chair away from her desk, a weary sigh escaping as she straightened her posture. "It's all good, Vegeta. It's just... ugh, Yamcha and I haven't been getting along for a while now... and we've been together so long that I _want_ to see if our relationship can't be salvaged!"

Pulling over a nearby chair and setting it about a metre away from Bulma, the Saiyan took a seat, arms folded across his chest as usual. He cleared his throat and almost appeared thoughtful before finally saying, "...but I repeat myself."

"How do people even maintain these long-term relationships any more? Do some people just have enough in common to stay together for decades?"

The Saiyan's eyes nearly rolled up into the back of his head and he resisted the urge to tell the engineer to quit being so ridiculous. Instead, he forced himself to do the unthinkable and state his business for a second time- he would give the woman a pass just this once, on the grounds that dealing with such idiocy could make anybody scatterbrained.

"So I'm here to see the progress on the simulator."

"Oh," Bulma sniffed and wiped her eyes, "of course... come on," she rose from her chair and motioned to a metal staircase that would bring them down to the lab's expansive ground-level workshop, "there's not much in the interior that you aren't already familiar with, but I'll show you the hull and some plans for the electrical systems we're planning to install."

"Hnn," Vegeta followed and observed quietly as she began describing the new hull and its advantages with much enthusiasm and detail. She's putting a great deal of work into the new simulator, he thought, I may as well tell the old man about the need to produce an even more extreme environment and greater gravitational pull when he's back at the compound. I just hope the woman and her spats with that idiot don't cause her to fall behind schedule...


	34. Unexpected Answers

Another two weeks passed, and Vegeta made a point of visiting the lab twice every day to inspect progress on his simulator. A morning when he was banned from approaching the simulator due to the use of flame retardant spray left him anxious, and an evening when he discovered Bulma had chosen to take a night off due to a migraine instead of re-programming his drones left him cursing and stomping down the hallway, snarling at Yamcha as he passed.

Three weeks into Vegeta's second long-term stay on Earth, the Saiyan had established a daily routine that allowed him to keep moving for at least six hours per day, but also allowed for a fair amount of time to relax and eat. He slept well, took afternoon naps almost every day, ate close to everything offered to him, sunbathed, and occasionally joined Mrs. Briefs for an informal cooking lesson in the early morning hours. He learned of outdoor running routes and took to running almost every morning just before breakfast.

One day, when Vegeta came downstairs looking for coffee, water, and something light before he went on a run, he noticed Mrs. Briefs quietly looking him over and his cheeks reddened, "what is it? Why do you keep looking at me?"

"You've put on some weight," Mrs. Briefs remarked, smile never fading, "your face looks fuller... and that makes you look younger, you know! Geez, do you have any idea how handsome you are, Vegeta? What a face you've got! Surely there's somebody who's already scooped you up by now- do you have a girlfriend?"

"Um," the Saiyan took a seat at the round kitchen table and picked a banana from the fruit basket, "no," his face grew hot and he avoided the woman's gaze, "not at all."

"Oooh," Mrs. Briefs continued, "...is it a boyfriend?"

Vegeta choked on his coffee and frantically set the mug on the table. "No," he croaked, "no! Stop this at once!" His voice regained its strength and he wished he could disappear silently.

"I just can't believe you haven't been scooped up yet! My, my, Mr. Vegeta, I'm so surprised to learn you're a bachelor!"

"This conservation is over!" Vegeta rose from his chair and returned to his bedroom. One cup of coffee, this piece of fruit, and then I go for a run... that woman is truly weird!

* * *

Shoes covered with cloth slippers, Vegeta strolled through the ship, quite impressed with the larger training space made available. Bulma had said they'd been working with potentially toxic chemicals and forced the Saiyan to wear a respirator.

"You don't wanna be in here too long," Bulma's voice sounded muffled behind her respirator, "we used some powerful adhesives today and they have ingredients you don't want to be breathing in."

"Ah, then give me thirty more seconds..." Vegeta continued looking around the space, "how much longer until the simulator is complete and functional?"

"Another two weeks, I'd say. But it'll be worth it, I promise!"

Rolling his eyes, the Saiyan turned away from Bulma and made his way closer towards the exit. "I bet it'll just be _something_ once it's complete. But really, the increased space is nice," he pulled off the protective cloth slippers and tossed them in the trash can and pulled off his respirator. The fumes from the glue _were_ strong, he felt a little dizzy and was eager to get into clear air.

"Glad to hear. Say... Vegeta?"

"Yeah?" Vegeta stopped and looked back at Bulma, eyes narrowing. If she was about to drop another surprise, his mood was sure to turn ugly.

"Um..." she pulled off her respirator and the Saiyan noticed her face reddening slightly, "well... do you want to maybe hang out together... this evening? Somewhere quiet, I mean. Where we can just talk."

The Saiyan looked at human as though she had suddenly sprouted a second head. "You want to talk to _me_?"

"Yeah!"

Vegeta's eyes turned to slits. "Why?"

"Oh my God, Vegeta! Seriously?" Bulma rolled her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath, "ugh... let me expla-" her face went blank and she restarted, sharply inhaling through her nose and voice taking on a resigned tone, "look, just meet me on the roof tonight around nine. You'd better be ready to chill out and have a good time, alright? I know you stay up late sometimes, so don't tell me you need to be in bed by that hour."

"Alright, then. On the roof at nine, to "chill out". Until then, goodbye," he took off quickly and turned down the hallway towards the gym.

* * *

Good on his word, Vegeta jumped up to the highest dome-shaped roof of the Capsule compound as the sun set and discovered Bulma sitting comfortably with an icy-cold can of beer in her hands. "About time! You want a beer?"

"Sure," Vegeta reached into the small insulated bag she'd carried up and cracked open his own can, "so what's this all about?"

The engineer sighed. "I just wanna get to know you a bit more, that's all. Look, Vegeta- I'm a busy woman, determined to get what I want, and I just happen to be attractive on top of all my other incredible attributes-"

"And blessed with such modesty, too!" Vegeta sneered and guzzled half his can of beer in the space of about three seconds.

"Pot calling the kettle black... anyway, Yamcha and I are basically done. We haven't officially broken up yet... I'm going to dump him soon, though. Don't get me wrong, he's always gonna be my friend, and I certainly love and care for him, but I'm not _in_ love with him any more. I don't know if he's gonna move out, either. You know, we got along so well in our twenties, but now that we've both hit our thirties, I've really started to see that we just don't have as much in common now..."

"Okay."

"Yeah, I know you want me to get right to the point, and my point is... and I'm just putting this out there... you're actually pretty good looking, you have an incredible body, and I wouldn't object to getting to know you better."

"Okay," Vegeta finished his beer, crushed the can, and tossed it off the roof, "I understand."

"Are you always this obtuse?! Ugh!"

The man sat up, slightly stiffened, and curled his lips into a sour pout. "Don't call me that! I don't give a shit about your boyfriend, or whatever he is, and while we're on the subject of the stupid things, I'm sick of listening to your idiotic arguments with him because they're giving me headaches!"

The engineer finished her beer but put her empty can back in the bag and pulled out two more. "I'm sick of _having_ those arguments, and they give me headaches too! They're absolutely exhausting! But as I said... you're really cute..." she moved closer to the Saiyan and brushed her lips across his cheek.

"Heh," Vegeta shifted away slightly, "this morning your mother asked if I had a boyfriend."

Bulma pulled away and stared at Vegeta, eyes wide and jaw slack. "Wait, she thinks you're gay? Um... are you gay?"

"I do not understand this expression "gay" in relation to my sexuality, but she asked me if I had a girlfriend or a boyfriend..."

"Um, "gay" refers to a man who is attracted to and has sex with other men, usually exclusively."

"Oh. Then I guess I'm not gay," Vegeta cracked open his second can of beer, "whatever the fuss is all about."

A long stretch of silence passed and stars started to appear in the darkening sky. Bulma looked over at Vegeta and found him actually relaxing; it showed in his face and especially in his body language.

Bulma finally broke the silence: "Vegeta?"

"Yeah?"

"When you took the Capsule ship... what was your journey like? I mean, there were times I was worried you were dead but then there were other times that I swore you were probably out having the time of your life," Bulma finally opened her second beer, "and believe it or not, I thought about you a lot."

Vegeta looked up at the stars and sighed. He was quiet for several minutes, fiddling with the tab of his beer can or picking at his nails. Finally, he spoke quietly: "it was a hard journey, at times. And there are no friends in the PTO, you must believe everybody is your enemy if you are to survive."

"That's sad..."

"It is reality. Even sitting down with old comrades resulted in a stabbing during my journey. It was a potent reminder that I need to keep vigilant."

"I can't imagine going through life without my friends. I trust them with my life."

"Foolish," Vegeta took another long gulp of beer, "totally foolish thinking."

"I was scared for you, Vegeta. After you called and told me you were seriously injured, I thought about you all the time. What happened, anyway?"

"Mm," Vegeta trailed off and wondered if it was time for him to leave, "I got to a doctor in time. Turns out I had a couple infections going on in my body anyway."

"Oh."

Vegeta finished his second beer and tossed the can into the distance. "Yeah. Nothing couldn't be remedied by antibiotics, however..."

Bulma lit a cigarette and took a shallow drag, "so what exactly does a guy like you do for fun? I mean, you can't always train... and you can't tell me you do, because we both know that's completely untrue!"

The Saiyan snickered and a crooked grin spread across his face, "are we discussing my leisure activities in years past, or in the present day? Because these days my leisure activities include being baffled by your television broadcasts and eating whatever your mother offers me."

The engineer was halfway through her cigarette and already thinking about the second one. "So what did you do before you became so boring?"

Vegeta's mouth dropped open and he laughed loudly, quite amused and almost shocked by Bulma's barb. "Still better than taking up bickering as a hobby. Anyway, if you're so damn interested... when I worked with the two idiots known as Raditz and Nappa..."

Bulma's eyes widened and she leaned closer, silently urging the Saiyan to continue.

"...hmm, we went out. That's all I'll say for now."

"Oh, you're the worst! All that build-up and no juicy story," Bulma let out a puff of cigarette smoke and rolled her eyes.

Recoiling from the smell, Vegeta eyed Bulma's cigarette and wondered if he'd smelled anything like it before, "whatever you're smoking, it smells awful. What sort of herb is that, anyway?"

"It's called tobacco," Bulma passed the cigarette to Vegeta, "you wanna try? They're pretty bad for you."

Reluctantly, Vegeta brought the filter to his lips and inhaled gently, his mouth and lungs filling up with the semisweet and chemical-laden smoke. He exhaled as he returned the cigarette to Bulma and stuck his tongue out with disgust, "that's rough. Tastes bad. Ugh, why do you smoke these?"

"Nicotine."

"What's tha- oh," Vegeta shut his eyes as the nicotine surged through his bloodstream and his heartbeat quickened, " _nee-coh-tihn_ ," his accent became more apparent as he slowly repeated the new word, "makes you lightheaded."

The engineer nodded and watched the Saiyan recover from the rush. "They taste awful at first, but they're really addictive and, as I already said, really fucking bad for your health."

"Guess humans have vices too," Vegeta smirked, "bad ones."

"Do you have any? Probably not, I suppose the Prince of Saiyans would be above that sort of thing."

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Bulma sat up straight, suddenly feeling very alert. Maybe Vegeta would reveal something truly surprising. "Well?"

Vegeta locked eyes with Bulma and looked at the woman with such intensity that for many seconds the heiress worried that the Saiyan would finally turn on her. He licked his lips and pushed them out into a gentle pout before finally speaking. "After the most brutal or taxing of missions, once I'd received medical treatment and gone through debriefing... if I wasn't training, I was probably fucking whores and drinking enough to stay drunk for a few days at a time. Raditz and Nappa did the same thing, and it was the only time I could stand them. But I'm not going to go into any more detail."

"So much for idea that you were very inexperienced or even a virgin..." Bulma smirked. Yamcha had posed the idea to her one day when they knew Vegeta was busy swimming laps in the pool and unlike to materialize out of nowhere as he was prone to doing.

The Saiyan barked a laugh and sneered at Bulma, "not for many years. Believe me when I say this: I could have you screaming, begging for more, and leave you unable to walk straight for a week. Unlike your so-called boyfriend, I can fuck, and I fuck well."

And with that, Vegeta stood up and jumped down to the ground, landing so softly that he didn't make a sound as his feet met the patio. Stunned into silence, Bulma tried to process what Vegeta had just told her, but his husky voice refused to stop reverberating in her head long enough to let her think.


	35. Second Thoughts and Awkward Questions

The morning after Bulma's unexpectedly sexual conversation with Vegeta, she arrived in the kitchen at quarter to eight to find Yamcha at the table, digging into a plate loaded up with pancakes, bacon, and hash browns. The warrior was dressed down in loose-fitting running shorts and a light t-shirt, feet bare and propped up on the table's base.

"Morning, Bulma!" Yamcha sounded cheerful but he didn't look at the woman, "your mom left lots of everything in the oven. Help yer'self!"

Bulma went for the pancakes and bacon, her stomach rumbling. "Do you know where she went?"

"Something called an "animal shelter"," Vegeta strode into the kitchen, down to his running shoes and shorts, towel draped over one broad shoulder, "said she'll be back in the early afternoon."

Vegeta stopped in the middle of the room, inhaled deeply through his nose, and furrowed his brow. Again, he sniffed the air, slowly exhaled through his mouth, and shook his head after a few moments. He fetched two plates and served himself after Bulma was finished, filling one plate with pancakes and the other with hash browns and bacon. Carelessly he slid both plates in the general area of what he considered "his seat" at the breakfast table before pouring two mugs of coffee; one for himself and one for Bulma. Vegeta knew to add cream and a spoonful of sugar to Bulma's mug, and when the Saiyan brought Bulma a mug of coffee, Yamcha's eyes narrowed and he looked at Bulma. "What the hell?" He mouthed silently, gaze locking onto his plate when Vegeta finally took his seat.

"Thanks, Vegeta," Bulma clasped her mug of coffee and took a slow sip, humming with approval when she noticed that the Saiyan had added just enough cream and sugar to her liking, "that was very nice of you."

"Huh," Yamcha tore a strip of bacon in half, "you never let me get your coffee..."

"Maybe I know what she wants," Vegeta sneered over the rim of his mug.

Bulma's face went very red. She fetched her tablet from the messenger bag slung over the back of her chair, and she spent several minutes looking over her progress on the new simulator. "Hey, Vegeta... come by the lab this evening, around seven o'clock. I want to show you the new computer I installed in the simulator."

Yamcha's face fell. "But Bulma, you said that you'd come to the game tonight! It starts at six!"

"Oh geez, was that tonight? I totally forgot! Yamcha, I'm so sorry, but I'm working under a few deadlines and have to prepare for a meeting at the office tomorrow morning. It's just not possible for me to make it. I'll come next week, alright?"

"Fine," the warrior grumbled and he finished his breakfast in record time, set his plates in the sink, and stormed off to his bedroom. Minutes later, he stomped down the staircase with a full gym bag slung over his shoulder and he slammed the front door on his way out.

When the silence settled, Bulma heaved a huge sigh and lit her first cigarette of the day. "Ugh! We are so done."

"Hmm," Vegeta dragged a strip of bacon through a pool of maple syrup, "this topic again..."

"Okay, okay," Bulma conceded, "another topic then. Choose one, Vegeta!"

The Saiyan placed a few strips of bacon in the centre of a pancake, rolled it up, and took a large bite, eyes looking up in thought. Finally: "why does your mother volunteer so frequently? What is she trying to get out of it?"

Bulma smiled, but her eyes were sad. "Vegeta, my mother likes to help others, especially those who are facing difficult circumstances, or, in the case of the animals... have been abused and abandoned. She doesn't expect anything in return."

Vegeta responded by taking a sip of coffee. "Uh huh. Sure she doesn't."

Awkward silence. Vegeta's eyes seemed to harden again, and Bulma knew he was reliving a painful moment.

"So... I've been thinking about what you said last night," the engineer smiled at Vegeta and casually undid another button on her shirt.

"Not now," Vegeta didn't look up from his food, "I must train."

"Ooh, aren't we disciplined..." Bulma straightened her posture and did the button back up, "and besides, I have to work until five thirty. I'll be honest with you, Vegeta, I'm interested in getting to know you even better, but we have some things to discuss before we consider getting intimate."

"Such as?"

"Well," Bulma blushed, "our respective sexual histories, our limits... what turns you on and what turns you off, you know?"

"Hm. Fine. We might discuss this tonight," Vegeta made a final pancake and bacon roll and rose from his seat, "I must resume training now."

"Oh, Vegeta, one more thing!"

The Saiyan looked back at Bulma, eyes narrowed. "What now?"

The engineer ran a finger from her collarbone down to her cleavage, "I wanna see you shirtless more often," she purred, "you've got an amazing body."

* * *

After a quiet dinner (Vegeta demanded that he be served outside and then be left alone) the Saiyan headed down to the lab to discover Bulma seated at her desk, face buried in her hands and sobs loud enough to make Vegeta pause in the doorway before approaching.

He cleared his throat and looked back at the entrance one more time, wondering if he should run away before she could turn her head. If she started to unload her relationship problems onto him again, he'd lose it.

"Oh, Vegeta," Bulma shook her head and wiped away tears rolling down her cheeks, "sorry... I'm just really stressed out... work was hell, and I feel awful on top of everything else!"

"I want to see the simulator now," Vegeta's voice was completely cold and Bulma sensed he was on the edge of slipping into one of his very authoritative moods.

"Sure," the engineer rose from her seat and clutched her lower abdomen, groaning under her breath, "let's check it out. Then I'm gonna lay down for a while."

The simulator was nearing completion; the interior and exterior were almost completely finished, the reinforced floors, electrical wiring, and plumbing installed, and the small living area and bathroom outfitted. Vegeta looked through the space, rather impressed with the progress, and when he saw the new computer he took a few minutes to acquaint himself with it before giving Bulma his opinion: "it looks like the computer on the other ship."

"It's a very similar model, but I've simplified the controls and made the system more accessible for you to use in general. When this computer is up and running, you'll be able to tell it to turn on the air conditioner while you're in the washroom if you wanted! Oh, and that reminds me, my dad and I upgraded the climate controls too. We're gonna move this baby outside once it's finished, and you'll be able to use it comfortably year-round."

"Hmm," the Saiyan ran his fingers over the keyboard, still covered in plastic, "quite impressive."

"You think so?" Her face brightened and she stood beside him, "I'm glad you like it. I need to finish programming the computer, but everything's coming together now."

Vegeta sniffed the air, catching something he knew all too well, and tried to place the source of this new scent, "I smell blood."

"Oh, my God..." Bulma went very red and ran out of the simulator, making a bee-line for the lab's washroom. Several minutes later she emerged, still red-faced and avoiding Vegeta's gaze.

"You are bleeding," he stated, voice flat and arms crossed over his chest, "why didn't you tell me you are wounded?"

"I am not!" The engineer crossed her arms and continued to avoid Vegeta's questioning eyes, "um, well, I'm not hurt..."

"Then what is that I'm smelling on you?"

Bulma picked at her thumbnail for a minute before looking up. "I'm on my period," she muttered, gaze snapping back to her fingernails.

"Your period? Isn't that what you people call a menstrual cycle?" The Saiyan didn't look particularly surprised.

Bulma was completely mortified. "Yes, Vegeta..."

"Never mind then. That's your domain."

"Walk me to the living room, Vegeta..." she wrapped an arm around his and prompted him to start walking, "the more I learn about you, the more unusual you become... so you can really smell... that?"

"For the last time, yes," Vegeta sighed, exasperated, "I pick up your scent and, at least right now, your blood too. Both are distinctive to me. I caught the smell of blood this morning but thought I was simply starting to go crazy."

"Starting to go crazy? Heh," Bulma eased herself onto the sofa and put her feet up, "if you're baseline right now, I don't wanna see your brand of crazy."

"Likewise. I want to go train now. Good bye," Vegeta left very quickly, flustered by Bulma getting so close and that _smell_ capturing his attention with such intensity that it left him unable to concentrate. She already left him feeling flustered and hot and tingly all over when she got very close, and sometimes she came to him in dreams that always ended just a little too soon.

As much as I want to fuck her, I have to keep my distance, Vegeta warned himself. For her own good as well as mine. I was an idiot to speak to her the way I did last night. Control yourself, Vegeta! You're getting too close and too comfortable around these humans yet again!

* * *

For four days, Vegeta was avoided everybody at the Capsule compound. He took his meals alone, ignored anybody who attempted to make conversation, trained constantly, kept his bedroom door locked whenever he was there and did not respond to any knocking. He watched television and he thought about Bulma often, and for the first time in his life, Vegeta wondered if he'd done the wrong thing by being so forward with the woman.

On the morning of the fifth day, Vegeta decided it was time to start talking to the humans again. He went downstairs in time to enjoy coffee in relative silence while Mrs. Briefs prepared breakfast. When he asked her for the cream, Mrs. Briefs let out a soft laugh. "Glad to hear your voice again, Vegeta. Not like you to go radio silent for so long! At least not on Earth, anyway..."

"Just thinking," Vegeta rolled his eyes.

"About?"

A long sip of coffee and Vegeta flicked through a grocery flier he could not understand. Finally: "humans. And how I'm living among them, with no real means of escape from this weird place."

Mrs. Briefs laughed again, soft and sweet. "I'm sure we seem strange to you because you are a... ah, ah... um... please remind me, sweethea-"

"Saiyan," Vegeta's voice was firm and proud, "not many of us left these days," he let out his signature dark, dry laugh, "but I am the Prince of all Saiyans, and I am the superior representative of my people."

"A royal "Saiyan"," Mrs. Briefs repeated, sounding out the name of her guest's race, "how exotic! Well, as I said before, I'm sure humans seem strange to Saiyans, but if you ever have any questions about humans, you can ask me. Anything."

The Saiyan started to laugh again, and his dark laugh morphed into a bright, loud laugh; he threw his head back and all his teeth were showing, abdomen flexing and contracting and cheeks starting to glow. Finally, he settled down and sighed, wiping the corner of his eye. "Okay, then I have a question: how frequently do human females menstruate, and for how long? I heard it was called a "period" here."

Unfazed, Mrs. Briefs answered without missing a beat: "I'd say the average menstrual cycle is about 28 to 32 days, but the "period" can last for 3 to 6 days. Of course, every woman is different. Why do you ask, sweetie?"

"Because there's always advertisements on the television for these things called "pads" and "tampons" and they seem to push the idea that this "period" thing is awful and socially unacceptable, but it doesn't have to be. Stupid advertisements. You know what? All of your advertisements are strange."

"Do you have advertisements where you're from?" Mrs. Briefs started to brush egg whites on croissants that had been left to proof overnight on the counter.

"Of course. But most of them aren't as stupid as Earthling commercials."

The Briefs matriarch set the first pan of croissants into the oven. "I'll suppose I'll just have to take your word for it. Oh, before I forget, Bulma and I are going shopping today, is there anything you'd like?"

The Saiyan laughed, and without missing a beat, he replied: "something fit for royalty."

Now that I know a bit more about the female reproductive system, maybe I can resume speaking to the woman. In spite of everything, in spite of her... humanity, I want her, thought Vegeta, and until I satisfy this curiosity she's going to be creeping through my every waking thought and invading my dreams. Consumed in his thoughts, Vegeta wandered over to the percolator for more coffee and barely flinched when he slammed his bare toe into the leg of a chair as he returned to his seat.


	36. A Gift, A Looming Problem

Browsing the elegant displays in the gentleman's department at Harold & Smithson's, an upscale department store located in a wealthy suburb just outside West City, Bulma searched for something that would appeal to Vegeta.

Something suitable for royalty, he says, but what exactly would he want? He's not going to want a cashmere scarf or Italian leather shoes... he'll probably snap out something about an item needing to be practical or utilitarian or whatever his weird criteria is!

She finally approached a display for a luxury manicure kit, each piece made of surgical steel and set in a leather case, and knew she had found something the Saiyan would actually use. Of all the habits and sometimes contradictory behaviours Vegeta had revealed to Bulma and the other humans thus far, she could absolutely confirm that the Saiyan was quite devoted to his hygiene and took remarkably good care of his skin and nails whenever possible.

"I can't wait to see his reaction to this..."

* * *

Late that evening, after spending several hours bolting down furniture and appliances inside the new gravity simulator, Bulma took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and a sweatshirt, and went across the hallway to knock on Vegeta's door.

Vegeta's gruff voice called out before she could rap her knuckles against the door: "you can enter."

"Hey," Bulma's voice was soft as she opened the door, "I got something for ya!"

The Saiyan sat upright on his bed and swung his legs over the side. The right corner of his mouth turned up when he looked Bulma up and down, enjoying the sight of her shapely bare legs. "Do you now? Show me. Is it a functioning simulator?"

Bulma laughed off his brusque line of questioning, reached into the front pocket of her sweatshirt and retrieved the manicure kit, which she had requested be wrapped in dark blue, textured paper at the department store. "Here you go! I hope you like it!"

The Saiyan ran his fingertips over the gift wrap and looked at Bulma, one brow raised. "I don't get it."

"You're supposed to open it! It's a, well, a little gift," Bulma struggled not to laugh and sat down beside Vegeta, her smile wide and face bright, "just because."

She almost expected Vegeta to react with deep suspicion. "Why? First of all... a gift? And "just because" is the oddest reasoning I've ever encountered in my entire life, which is really saying something. This is some kind of weapon designed to detonate if I tear this covering, isn't it?"

"Ugh, Vegeta! You are so paranoid! Just calm dow- okay, okay, look at it this way: Earthlings sometimes give gifts to those they appreciate or wish to recognize in some way. It's a good thing, I promise. And the paper is just to, um, make it a bit more special."

After a few moments of consideration, Vegeta decided to accept the reasoning the woman provided and tore open the paper, revealing a soft black leather case. When he pulled away the last of the paper, opened the case, and realized the woman had just given him several high-end tools to take care of his nails, a small, genuine smile appeared and his entire face softened, hinting at some type of long-suppressed sweetness for a few seconds.

"Thank you... this was very unexpected," Vegeta pulled out a fine nail file and gently ran it over his thumbnail, "so what is the occasion?"

"You're the one who said to get something "fit for royalty", and this is the only thing I could find that would appeal to a Saiyan prince."

"Heh," he set the nail file back in the case and snapped it back shut, "then you have reasonably good taste. I do like it."

"I'm glad. And, if I'm going to be totally honest with you, Vegeta, your arrival and extended stays on Earth had given me a lot of interesting ideas and new items to work with. Your willingness to provide me with samples of the drugs you retrieved has allowed Capsule Corp to begin new research and development into medications that have the potential to be completely revolutionary. The armour, the simulator, the scouter... you've given me some incredible resources to wo-"

"Hang on," Vegeta suddenly rose from the bed and went to his set of drawers and searched for the delicate gold necklace, finally coming across the fine gold chain and arrow he'd taken from Bulma so many months prior. He returned to the bed, hands clasped together to hide the jewelry, and finally revealed the necklace. "I couldn't bring myself to parting with this. It's not a gift, but I have wanted to return it."

The engineer's eyes overflowed with tears and she brought the Saiyan into a tight embrace, kissing his cheeks and burying her face into the crook of his neck, her hot tears soaking his t-shirt. Vegeta didn't return her embrace, but he didn't push her away either. "Thank you," she managed to croak and sniffed, pulling away to finally wipe her eyes, "oh, Vegeta, thank you for returning this..."

"Stop crying..." he watched her put on the necklace, confused by her reaction.

"I'm not sad, Vegeta! You just did something so... so... kind," she leaned in again and kissed his forehead, "and that is a true gift."

The Saiyan dared to run his hands down Bulma's torso, feeling her figure through the thick material of her sweatshirt, and when he reached the bottom he brought his hands under the shirt, over her soft stomach, up to her breasts, and gently squeezed her nipples. When she gasped and responded by pulling the bunched up fabric up and over her head, Vegeta grinned at the sight of her naked torso and continued to touch her, completely mesmerized by her soft, pale skin and curvaceous figure. He brought Bulma into his lap and kissed her chest, drawn to her warmth and the feeling of her pounding heart.

Vegeta finally forced himself to stop long enough to ask: "what about the human you're having the issues with?"

"Don't worry about him," Bulma started to pull of Vegeta's t-shirt, "he's gonna be out for at least another few hours..."

"Mmm," Vegeta attempted to shimmy out of his running shorts with Bulma still on his lap, "very good. And if you just menstruated..."

Bulma stopped, Vegeta's t-shirt still around his neck, and looked at the Saiyan with her mouth curling into a horrified snarl, "and if I just what?! What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't want to get you pregnant..." Vegeta watched Bulma's facial expression change from one of of anger to one of bewilderment in an instant, "I know that humans and Saiyans... it's possible..."

Finally, Bulma realized that the Saiyan had only a very faint idea of how the human female reproductive cycle worked, no idea of the kinds of birth control humans had at their disposal, and she started to laugh when it dawned on her that his questioning was completely well-intentioned.

"And you won't, Vegeta, because I take a pill that prevents such a thing from happening," she finally pulled the t-shirt off the Saiyan's neck and kissed collarbones, "I'm _waaaaay_ ahead of you..."

"Good," the Saiyan managed to stop running his hands across the woman's body long enough to pull his shorts down and abandoned them on the bedroom floor, "there's two issues covered. Anything else, woman?"

The engineer noticed Vegeta's growing erection, and nodded. "One more thing... I'm going to get a condom. Have a package in my room, be right back," Bulma pulled Vegeta's t-shirt over her head and walked towards the door.

"A what?"

Bulma left without providing an explanation, and returned less than a minute later with a grey box. "It's a very thin latex barrier that's put on an erect penis just before sex. Basically, it's a very effective form of birth control and prevents transmission of diseases," she pulled what looked like a square wrapped in silver foil, "care for a demonstration on how to use them?"

Vegeta couldn't hide his crooked grin and lay back on his bed, watching the woman come even closer, until they were so close that he could feel her body heat radiating, "if you're willing to show me..."

* * *

Back in her own bedroom, hair damp from another shower, Bulma replayed her experience with Vegeta over and over again in her head, unsure of how to feel about it. He hadn't been lying about what he liked to do, but she hadn't expected him to use as much strength as he did. His compact, powerful body had been almost too-heavy on top of hers at times, he disliked speaking or even making much noise during sex, and Bulma was left with the overall sense that Vegeta was used to prioritizing his own pleasure and being on his own after sex.

She wondered aloud if she should give him another chance. Open communication was paramount to good sex, after all, and he did seem to have at least some potential.

A soft knock at the door. Couldn't be Vegeta, she thought, he never knocks like that.

"Come in!" Bulma pulled the covers over her legs.

Yamcha entered, looking a little worse for wear after a night out. "Hey, Bulma. How's your night been?"

"Oh, pretty uneventful. Work, work, and more work. I'm gonna go to sleep soon. How was your night? Looks like you had fun!" The engineer squeezed her legs together underneath the blankets.

"It was good! Well, um, I was just wondering, well... if you were gonna show up to the game next week? It's on Thursday."

Bulma smiled and tried to suppress the worry that Vegeta was still awake and possibly listening to their conversation. "I'll try to clear my schedule."

"Great. I'd really love for you to come to a game! Sleep well, Bulma," Yamcha turned to leave the room and looked back, "I love you."

Bulma did not sleep well that night.


	37. Connection and Clash

A week passed by rather uneventfully. Bulma finally completed all work on the new simulator (something that allowed her to avoid both Yamcha and Vegeta) which satisfied the Saiyan for approximately three days before he got bored and demanded that the simulator be upgraded to produce a greater gravitational pull.

Dr. Briefs only reluctantly started work on another simulator after Vegeta demonstrated some of his explosive telekinetic abilities on various lab equipment in a fit of rage.

Vegeta settled into a comfortable routine of early mornings, intense training, frequent meals, afternoon naps, and a small amount of leisure time in the evening, which he typically enjoyed on his own. After his experience with Bulma, he couldn't help but feel a little strange when he had to face her and her family at the table in the morning. It had been so long since Vegeta had sex that he'd become completely focused on getting himself off, and he only realized just how rough and to-the-point he'd been after he'd told Bulma to leave the room so he could sleep. He almost felt guilty about the whole thing.

When it came to women, the only experience the Saiyan had with them was when they were waitresses, bartenders, vendors, strippers, or prostitutes. He was used to getting his way, having women serving him, being able to speak to them however he pleased, and the unspoken idea that his pleasure was priority. In his teen years, Vegeta had known a female mechanic who worked on Planet 79, and while he admired and trusted her work, he was also very intimidated by the fact that she didn't make any attempt to charm or please him. She would challenge his opinions, demanded he never curse in her work space, and occasionally invited him to watch her make repairs to his pod. When she was transferred to work on a space station for five years, Vegeta was secretly heartbroken. He never heard from her again.

* * *

One evening, Bulma decided that the cure for the overheated feeling she couldn't shake after an afternoon of welding was a dip in the pool. She changed into a two piece swimsuit and jumped in the cool water, coming up for air with a loud whoop for joy. After a few lazy laps, she opted to linger in the deep end, resting her arms on the ledge and contentedly hanging in the water.

She opened her eyes when she heard footsteps across the tile and sighed when she recognized the the long, broad feet and the confident gait of the Saiyan prince. He approached the pool's edge and dove in gracefully, swimming down until he was almost at the bottom of the deep end before pushing himself back up to the surface. He finally swam over to her and propped his arms up on the edge of the pool. They were only a few inches apart. Bulma could feel his body heat radiating with enough intensity to warm her own skin.

"Hello," he grinned, flashing sharp, straight, bright teeth, "cooling off?"

"Yeah," Bulma pushed off the pool wall with her feet, "welding all afternoon in the heat is enough to completely drain me."

"New simulator?" He pushed off the edge and lazily swam in circles, partially floating on his back.

"Ugggh! Vegeta! It's being built as quickly as humanly possible. My Dad's working on it for you day in and day out, and he's no slouch. If you want a new challenge, I'll go out and get a weighted vest for you to wear during your training."

"A what?" Vegeta returned to the pool's edge. He couldn't help but look at Bulma's swimsuit and notice what it just barely covered. The top and bottom were fastened with strings tied in flimsy-looking bows...

"A weighted vest. It'll give you just a bit more resistance in the meantime. Goku uses weighted clothing to train, you know..."

That tidbit of information was enough to completely capture Vegeta's attention. "Oh really? And you know where to procure the same kind of garment?"

"They're kinda common here, honestly..." Bulma sighed, "I can pick one up in the morning."

"Fair enough."

They both hung onto the edge of the pool and floated in the water, small splashes echoing in the huge tiled room.

Finally, Bulma noticed Vegeta's lips curling into his crooked grin. "I like your swimwear."

"I bet you do," the engineer mirrored Vegeta's smirk.

Vegeta laughed in spite of himself. "I was thinking, though..." his face started to grow red but he maintained eye contact.

"Thinking about..." Bulma's voice dropped and she broke eye contact with Vegeta, "I don't know, Vegeta... that evening... it wasn't exactly what I'm into."

Bulma did not expect Vegeta to nod in agreement. "I do know. It's been a while, and maybe, _just maybe_ , I got a bit self-absorbed in the moment."

Although suspicious, Bulma tilted her chin up, knowing he would interpret it as a challenge and an invitation to continue making his case. "So you do have a girlfriend or something out there, hmm? Who is she?"

"She was a prostitute. I paid for an hour and got what I wanted."

Bulma physically recoiled from Vegeta and looked him up and down, nose wrinkling with disgust. "Seriously? Wow. That kind of explains a lot, right there."

"Hey!" Vegeta snapped back, brows furrowing, "you want the truth? I'm not _good_ with women. I lived most of my life in close quarters with men. Women are... have been a real fucking minority for me over the years, and the majority said minority worked in areas you people seem to classify as "service" type jobs. Women almost always serve me and make damn sure they smile."

"Okay, so you're admitting you're a misogynist?"

It was the Saiyan's turn to recoil slightly and look at Bulma through narrowed eyes. "I don't hate women any more than I might hate a man or any other sex."

"You're just used to them being waitresses or strippers, and being able to treat them poorly if you want, and having power over them. They're not your equal, but then again, perhaps you believe most beings are not your equal?"

The Saiyan knew Bulma wasn't really questioning him any more. She's no idiot, that's for sure, he thought, mulling over her words. After a long minute, he looked over at Bulma and shrugged. "It is what it is."

Bulma sighed, and finally swam back towards Vegeta. "It's a fair explanation. Thank you for being open with me. I don't really like it, but as you say, it is what it is."

Vegeta's hands slid into the water and teasingly pulled on the strings of the woman's bottoms. "I can do so much better..."

"Under a few conditions, Vegeta."

He grinned and started to pull down her bottoms. "Which are?"

"Knock it off!" She grabbed his thick wrists and he stopped immediately, easily sliding out of her grasp and backing off. "You're gonna slow down this time. I'm experienced and I know what I like, and you're gonna listen to me when I tell you if something feels good or not. Human women have some pretty sweet spots. We should try different positions. And... you're bigger than you realize, so being a little gentle wouldn't be a bad thing."

Vegeta simply smirked. I'm sure she's stroking my ego, so to speak, but whatever...

"Woman, I accept your conditions."

"Good. My room, eleven thirty..."

"No. My room."

"What? Why?"

"For one, your room smells like those cigarettes you smoke. And you're messy. Makes me anxious."

Bulma rolled her eyes, but conceded. "Alright. _Your_ room. Eleven thirty. You'd better come through this time, Your Highness..." she pushed herself out of the pool and wrapped a towel around her waist.

Vegeta swam towards the centre of the pool and his smirk returned. "We'll just see, won't we?"

* * *

It was 12:45 AM when the two finally lay back on Vegeta's bed, slick with sweat and Bulma taking a few minutes to catch her breath. Finally, she sighed and giggled. "See what happens when you slow down and take a few suggestions?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and sat up to remove the final condom they'd used. He knotted it closed, tossed it into the wastepaper basket underneath his beside table, and lay back on the bed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

Bulma started to rub Vegeta's shoulder and leaned in closer. "Keep on like this and maybe we can make it a regular thing..."

The Saiyan rolled onto his side, turning his back to Bulma, and let out the softest growl of annoyance. "I'm going to go take a shower," he sat up again and remained still when Bulma got up onto her knees placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Her breasts pressed against his back and both of them simultaneously noted the new heat on their bodies.

"Why don't we shower together? That might be fun..."

"No. We're done here for the night," he stood up and rolled his shoulders, "I have to train in the morning. Let me know when you've acquired the weighted vest."

He went to his en-suite washroom without saying another word and the sound of running water started seconds later. Slowly, Bulma rose from the bed and got dressed again. She hadn't been completely surprised by Vegeta's insistence that he shower alone, his mind clearly focused on training, but it still felt incredibly cold.

She crept out of his room and tip-toed across the hallway back to her room.

* * *

The following morning, Bulma took her usual seat at the table as Mrs. Briefs cooked and whistled a cheerful tune. Vegeta followed soon after, speaking with Dr. Briefs about something concerning the new simulator. Finally, Yamcha came downstairs and took the last seat at the table, which wedged him in between Bulma and Mrs. Briefs.

Over breakfast, Yamcha dared to look on as Vegeta and Bulma constantly looked at each other. They made eye contact, and they maintained eye contact for long stretches of time. How Bulma could stand to look at the Saiyan, Yamcha had no idea, but it was enough to make him lose his appetite. When Vegeta wasn't looking at Bulma and apparently listening intently to what she had to say, he was passionately expanding on an "idea" he had for his custom-built gravity simulator with Dr. Briefs, who was nothing short of intrigued by what Vegeta had to say.

A flood of questions hit Yamcha. He literally bit his tongue and struggled to finish his small glass of grapefruit juice. How could these decent people accept this literal monster and allow him to live in their house? Why were they all catering to him and taking his ideas and opinions into consideration? But most pressing of all, why was one of his very best friends, the woman he cared for so deeply, constantly looking over at the awful Saiyan?

Yamcha was very certain that Bulma wasn't spending all her time working, either. He may have become preoccupied with training and sports, but he was not a stupid man. Something was going on.

Temper at risk of boiling over, Yamcha finally pushed his glass of juice away, left the table, and headed out the door. A full day of training awaited him.

The sky was streaked with red, orange, and pink as Yamcha returned to the Capsule compound. His training had been successful, and he actually attributed his good training session to his anger in the morning. When Yamcha spotted Vegeta out on the back patio, using the barrier's thin railing as a balance beam, his anger flared up again, he stormed over, and stood before the Saiyan with his arms folded over his chest.

"I need to talk to you. Now."

Vegeta moved into an Arabesque, held it for five seconds, and effortlessly transitioned into a front flip before straightening up to his full height. "Then speak."

"You need to watch it around Bulma. Don't even think about messing around with her, buddy."

"Excuse me?" Vegeta continued to walk up and down the barrier, gracefully turning on the balls of his feet and flipping back and forth with precision, barely paying any mind to the furious man confronting him.

"You heard me, Vegeta. Don't touch Bulma. Don't even look at her the wrong way! She and I have been friends for a long time, even way more than just friends, and the last thing she needs is to get involved with a total sleaze like you."

The Saiyan paused in the middle of his impromptu balance beam exercises and hopped off the railing and pulled Yamcha in close by the collar of his t-shirt. "Not only shall I continue to do whatever I want, but I'm pretty sure the woman has the right to do whatever she wants too. What authority have you to tell anybody here what to do? You have three seconds to fuck off," Vegeta released the warrior's clothing, "one..."

"Fuck you, Vegeta!"

Yamcha didn't even have time to see Vegeta's fist about to make contact with his right cheek, let alone react to it. One brutal hit was all it took to split the inside of Yamcha's cheek open and knock out a tooth. The man moaned and doubled over, his jaw slack and head buzzing. Fat drops of blood and drool splattered onto the finished wood of the deck, and Yamcha watched the mess with a growing sense of detachment.

"Mind how you speak to royalty, you fucking peasant!" Vegeta strolled past Yamcha and returned inside.


	38. Facts and Arguments

Two full weeks passed before the tension in the house finally boiled over. Vegeta trained for several hours almost every day. He put on four pounds in the second week, by then tipping the scales at 143 pounds. In addition to his hours of training, the Saiyan would frequently sunbathe on the roof when the sun was at its most intense, sometimes down to just a pair of briefs. His formerly pale, sometimes sallow complexion quickly became a deep, warm olive.

On the Sunday afternoon of the second week, Vegeta went down to the lab to speak with Dr. Briefs about an idea the older man had presented on the Friday evening. Passing through the hallway, Yamcha noticed Vegeta's bedroom door open and dared to peek inside, discovering the room empty and unguarded. After waiting at the threshold for two full minutes to confirm the sense that Vegeta was on the other end of the house and not moving, Yamcha slowly pushed the door open and tip-toed inside.

The room was kept the way Yamcha had pretty much expected; the bed was made to military standards, the desk spotless, all clothing separated by colour before being placed into the laundry basket, wastepaper basket neatly tucked under his bedside table.

That's when Yamcha noticed a familiar-looking green and black box inside the trash. His pulse quickened when he realized it was a box of condoms, and after pulling a tissue from the blue box on top of the bedside table and wrapping it around his fingers did he slowly take the box out and spot the three used condoms at the bottom of the basket.

He dropped the box back into the wastepaper basket, shoved the tissue into his pocket, and left the room, so furious his hands and mouth shook uncontrollably. The warrior went to his room, quickly filled his gym bag with everything he needed for a few hours at the gym, and he took off before his anger could get the better of him.

* * *

"What do you think, my boy?" Dr. Briefs unveiled a new set of upper body armour, gloves, boots, and a blue sleeveless tunic and long-legged leotard.

"Give it to me so I can try it on..." the Saiyan pulled down his shorts and took the bottoms, getting changed in front of the older man, who turned away and stifled a shocked laugh.

After a few minutes and in the full outfit, Vegeta had performed a series of front flips, slid into a split, pushed his weight up with his palms pressed into the floor, swung his legs around and transitioned into a lotus pose (Dr. Briefs tried not to grimace, wondering how the young man could move like that) with his hands still supporting his full weight, and finally rolled backward and back up onto his feet.

"It's alright. The fit's slightly off, and it's hindering my movements."

"It's my wife who put together all the pieces from the material we, ah, Bulma and I, created."

"Then get her."

She arrived three minutes later, carrying with her a sewing basket. "Hi, boys! Vegeta, don't you look so handsome in your new clothes!"

"The fit's not right," Vegeta pulled off the torso armour and rolled his shoulders back, "it's a bit too high here, around the underarms, and the bottom's kind of hitting my pelvic bones, here..." he traced the general areas on his body and on the armour and passed it to Mrs. Briefs, who pulled out a pen from her basket and started to make small markings on the armour.

"Okay... lower on the armpits, raise the bottom... you've really been going at it hard with your training, maybe I ought to take your measurements again," she tossed her pen onto the table and went for her measuring tape, "before long we'll be buying you new clothes all over again!"

The leotard fit better, although Vegeta realized after seeing himself in a mirror that his everyday cotton underwear weren't compatible with the clothes he typically wore into battle and felt his cheeks getting hot. "The underwear won't work either. The waistband gets in the way."

"Hmm. I might be able to make something using a higher denier blend of this fabric..." Mrs. Briefs measured the breadth of the Saiyan's increasingly-powerful shoulders and started to make notes.

"Alright. And this top," he pulled it off and handed it to her, "the straps are too thick and could irritate the neck. The arm openings either need to be bigger, or the design should be altered to expose more of the shoulders and back."

"Sure," Mrs. Briefs tossed the top onto the table, "I think I know what you're looking for. Give me a day and I can make another top."

"Fine." He took his gym clothing and went to the lab's washroom to change and returned with the leggings, gloves, and boots, but he only handed back the leggings. "Must do further testing on the boots and gloves myself."

Mrs. Briefs laughed, a bit nervous, and took the armour and clothing. His drive was incredible, but the intensity of his training worried the woman. If he isn't careful, he's going to seriously hurt himself, she'd think, the poor young man is going to wind up in the hospital.

"Anyway, my boy," Dr. Briefs took a puff on a fresh cigarette, "your idea to create an entire chamber that can simulate different levels of gravity plus unique environmental conditions is quite a fascinating one. I slept on it, and decided that I'll begin some preliminary sketches and research just as soon as your _other_ simulator is complete. Your input will be welcomed too, of course."

"Good. I must resume my training. Good-b-"

"Just one more minute of your time, son."

The Saiyan huffed and rolled his eyes. "What?"

Clearing his throat, the elder scientist looked Vegeta up and down with narrowed eyes, an almost-suspicious look that made Vegeta's pulse pound, before speaking: "please do be careful with your training. Give your body a rest now and then."

"Mm," Vegeta turned on his heel, "whatever you say. I must train. Good-bye."

* * *

At the dinner table, Yamcha was so sickened by the sight of Vegeta that he pushed his plate aside and excused himself, blaming a headache. Bulma looked over at the Saiyan and bit her lip, the gnawing worry that the man was catching on and fast. Vegeta only shrugged and had another mouthful of pasta. Now that he knew how to eat it, spaghetti was a remarkably tasty and versatile food.

"Come over to my sewing room after dinner, Vegeta. I want to check your measurements again and show you the pattern I made for the top."

"Alright," the Saiyan seemed more interested in dunking a scrap of crusty bread into the tomato sauce remaining after his seventh bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.

"Mom, are you really making him clothes now?" Bulma lit her after-dinner cigarette and chuckled at the idea of Vegeta sporting a custom-made outfit.

"I am. He's been very helpful in showing me what can be improved on."

"She's making clothing from the fabric you and your father synthesized," Vegeta said through a mouthful of bread before swallowing, "interesting armour, too."

"Oh, yeah? We're running some stress tests on that stuff this upcoming week. You should come by and watch what the kind of abuse we put it through."

"Only if I can participate."

"Deal!"

* * *

"We need to talk right now," Yamcha barged into Bulma's bedroom after dinner, as she lounged on her bed and flipped through a magazine, "I know damn well something up with you and Vegeta, and you'd better start explaining before I get _really_ angry."

"What are you gonna do, fight Vegeta? Good luck. Look, Yamcha," the engineer set the magazine down and swung her legs off the bed, "I think, maybe... it's time we saw other people. It's just not working any more."

"No! No, it isn't! Even right now, you can't be honest with me about what's going on between you and that... that... monster! You fucked him, didn't you? Didn't you? Answer me!" Yamcha's voice steadily rose and grew harsher.

"What proof do you have?"

"How about the condoms in his trash can, huh? Is that enough proof for you?! Who else could he be sleeping with? 'Cause it certainly ain't me!"

Downstairs, both Vegeta and Mrs. Briefs stopped in the middle of their discussion on the pattern for the torso armour and listened to Bulma's shrill yell. They looked at each other, up at the ceiling, and Vegeta picked up his name being tossed back and forth in the argument and groaned.

"I knew this would happen," she sighed, "it was only a matter of time."

"What?"

"I wasn't born yesterday, Vegeta! Those two have been on again, off again for years now!"

He heaved a sigh of relief (although it sounded like a sigh of exasperation to Mrs. Briefs) and decided to go upstairs, which wound up being a terrible decision. Bulma and Vegeta left her bedroom the moment they spotted Vegeta. Suddenly being caught between two screaming people did nothing to help with his claustrophobia, and accusations from the human called Yamcha were delivered in a nonstop, profanity-laced rant pushed him over the edge. (In a way, Vegeta was impressed by the intensity of Yamcha's anger.)

"Enough!" He roared, gently pushing both humans away and backing away from the pair, clearing his throat and speaking softly, glimmering eyes locked on Yamcha's: "I have fucked your woman, human. Numerous times. And she likes it! She seemed quite bored with you anyway. Deal with it, and deal with me if you dare."

"You son of a bitch! You fucking son of a bitch! I hope you die painfully in that simulator!" Yamcha screamed at Vegeta but did not come closer. "And you," he pointed at Bulma, "you disgust me in so many different ways right now." He backed away, stormed into his room, and the click of the lock was somehow loud enough to make Bulma startle.

After a long, heavy, and numbing silence, Vegeta shook his head in utter disbelief at what he'd just participated in and went to his room.

Bulma struggled to compose herself, blinking away tears forming in her eyes, and went downstairs to the lab.

* * *

Breakfast on Monday morning was such an awkward affair for everybody that Vegeta knew it would be best to grab something and leave. He took a slice of bread, smeared it with peanut butter, pulled a large bottle of water from the fridge, and ate while walking to the gym. Dr. Briefs had actually opted to go out for breakfast, having learned of what was going on when his daughter had arrived at the lab on the verge of tears the evening prior.

Bulma chose to have breakfast at the table, sitting beside her mother rather than across from her, and they finally felt comfortable speaking once the Saiyan was out of the room.

"Yamcha took off for a hotel early this morning," Mrs. Briefs sipped her coffee and glanced in the direction of the home gym, "he is very, very angry at Vegeta. And you. But mostly Vegeta. What's going on, Bulma? We all knew you and Yamcha had difficulties, but things are a lot more complicated than that, aren't they?"

"Yeah," sighed Bulma, "they are, Mom. It's not like I intended for things to get complicated, it's just... we were trying to make it work... and then Vegeta came back..."

Mrs. Briefs nodded, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "I know, sweetheart. I see the way you two look at each other."

The engineer's face went very red. "Mom!"

"Bulma, honey, I'm no fool. He's right across the hallway from your room, and you two seem rather fond of spending time together. If I were about twenty years younger..."

"Oh, I'm even more embarrassed now!"

"You're a grown woman, Bulma, and therefore you're responsible for making your own decisions. Just make sure you put some thought into your choices. I'll always support you, no matter what you decide to do."

Bulma leaned over in her seat and hugged her mother. "Thank you..."

"Honestly, sweetheart," Mrs. Briefs returned the embrace before pulling away, "I think Vegeta's even more embarrassed than you right now. Things will settle down."

"What about Yamcha?"

The woman smiled, her expression tinged with sadness. "He's angry and hurt right now, as he very well should be. The mistake _you_ made is not breaking up with him properly. He feels like you were leading him on. The good thing is that he gave me the address of the hotel he's staying at, so I'm going to take him out this afternoon. In time, he'll adjust as well. Just give him some space when he does return."

Dinner was slightly less awkward, although Dr. Briefs didn't make any conversation whatsoever and constantly looked at Vegeta through suspicious, narrowed eyes. He eventually left the table before finishing his meal and went in the direction of the lab.

"I finished your top, Vegeta. Would you want to try it on tonight, since last night didn't work out?"

After making two attempts to swallow a mouthful of grilled chicken and couscous, Vegeta managed to get his mouth clear and nodded. His throat felt tight, nerves running high at the realization that the woman was probably going to angrily confront him about what he'd been doing with her daughter.

Vegeta went to the woman's sewing room and spotted the top on a mannequin. Mrs. Briefs was smoothing out a bolt of the same fabric she'd used to create his new top and laid a paper pattern down on top of it. "What do you think? Will this style work better?"

"Oh, yeah," he pulled the top off the mannequin and quickly changed shirts, "this is a lot better. Anyway, I must tr-"

"Vegeta, hang on."

"What?"

She had returned to tracing the pattern on her bolt of fabric and only gave Vegeta a very knowing smile. "Good luck with your training, sweetheart."

* * *

At quarter after eleven in the evening, after his late-night shower, Vegeta lay stomach-down on his bed, surfing through the television channels in the hopes of finding something good to watch.

A sharp knock at his door, and Vegeta knew it wasn't Bulma or her strangely sweet mother. It was the knock of a man at his door.

"What do you want?" He snapped, turning off the television.

"My boy," Dr. Briefs opened the door just a crack, "have you ever tried a single malt whisky? The bottle I've got is fifty years old now, so I'm going to have a glass out on the patio."

A not-so-subtle request to go outside with the old man. More an order than an invitation, and Vegeta knew he wasn't in any position to argue, not with all the equipment the elder scientist was developing. Why couldn't the day just be over with, already?

"Fine," Vegeta grumbled, rolling off the bed and pulling on a crew neck sweatshirt, "I'm coming."

Dr. Briefs had set out two glasses, a bucket of ice, and a handsome glass bottle filled with a dark spirit on a small table between two lounge chairs. He eased himself into the chair on the right. The night air was pleasantly cool and a very gentle breeze occasionally passed over the yard and patio. "So, my boy. I heard that quite the argument broke out last night," he pulled the cork out of the bottle and filled Vegeta's glass about one third of the way full before adding a single piece of ice, "and let's just agree that you were the subject of that argument. You have, perhaps unknowingly, made two people who have been friends for a long time very angry at each other."

Vegeta took a small sip of the whisky. It was a very unique, strong-tasting spirit, and once he'd swallowed it he felt a bit more relaxed.

_If this stuff is laced..._

"There's no denying it. It is what it is."

Dr. Briefs shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Look, son... I didn't ask you to sit with me to start another argument, nor did I ask you out here to threaten you or forbid you from spending time with my daughter, if you are indeed interested in her. You are both adults, and my daughter is completely capable of making her own decisions."

The Saiyan took another sip. "Go on..."

Dr. Briefs finally poured his own glass of whisky, added ice, and sipped for a while. He looked up at the night sky, internally asking himself what was out there, and finally set his glass down on the table. "I just hope your intentions with my daughter are good, and that you are both being very cautious. And, since we're talking... please refrain from resorting to physical violence if you have a disagreement with Yamcha. That poor boy needs to get some dental work done now, and dentistry isn't cheap 'round these parts."

"I won't hit the idiot unless he tries to get in my face again. I will defend myself if threatened," Vegeta drained his glass, "but have no intention of harming your daughter, even if she drives me crazy from time to time."

"Very good. Well, I'm going to head inside for the night. I think you need this more than I do," Dr. Briefs poured Vegeta another glass, set the bottle back on the table, and rose from his chair, "have a good night, son. Things will settle down."

Vegeta sank back in the chair and took another sip of whisky.


	39. Fallout

The morning after a half-bottle of fifty year old whisky, Vegeta had just enough of a hangover to feel unsettled and dehydrated. He changed into clean clothing, washed his face, and went downstairs to face the humans.

The day before had been completely and utterly traumatic. If he had been able to have his way, Vegeta would have paced the entire house and screamed until his voice was raw after that evening. He would have broken things. Ripped doors off hinges and ram his fist through the wall as many times as his bare hands could take. Being confronted by the doting, ageing parents of the woman he was fucking on a regular basis did not sit well with him, even if they didn't seem angry or express any serious disapproval. The whole situation was just too awkward for him to want to deal with, but (as life seemed to require of him) he had no choice but to keep going and he had to maintain some degree of civility.

He went downstairs and immediately started looking in the refrigerator. He found a single-serving bottle of strawberry kefir and pocketed it, took an apple from the crisper and started eating while rummaging with a free hand, finally taking a three ounce package of smoked turkey breast (he put it in his other pocket) and deciding it would be enough.

"You want a cup of coffee to go with that express breakfast, Vegeta?" Mrs. Briefs was just behind him and slightly to the left, likely turned towards the counter. Vegeta could sense she didn't want to look at him right away.

"Um," Vegeta swallowed, "I guess."

She made a mug of coffee to his liking and gave him a small smile. Vegeta avoided eye contact, took the coffee with his free hand, and headed straight to the lab.

A series of very loud pops came from the lab, startling Vegeta (spilling just a bit of hot coffee on his hand and apple in the process) and making him freeze in place. He waited for a scream, a cry for help, flames, another series of pops.

Anything.

A full minute passed. His heart didn't slow down. Had it been a series of controlled explosions? Was it an experiment? Maybe it really was safe to continue approaching.

Finally, he crept toward the lab's door and found it shut and locked. "Somebody say something!" A security camera turned around on its mounting and focused on him, and Vegeta looked up into the lens and smirked.

The door buzzed open. Vegeta entered the lab to find the air tinged with the strangest smell; slightly sulphuric, smoky, something that indicated great heat and ballistic power had been produced at some point. He flashed back to one of his earliest attempts to harness his telekinetic and destructive psychic abilities into something deadly, perhaps all of four years old, and for a split second he could almost feel the joy he'd experienced when his father had praised his efforts three decades prior all over again.

Something almost caught in his throat.

"Hey, you gotta put some eye and ear protection on if you wanna be in here! You wanna watch some ballistics testing?" Bulma stood at her work bench located on the elevated portion of the lab and waved. She wore her hair back in a ponytail (or as close as she could get with the artificially curly mess she insisted on sporting) wore a baseball cap, brim pointing backwards.

"What is that smell?"

"Gunpowder. Why the hell are you carrying so much food? Is that a bottle of yogurt in your pocket? And I am _so_ not coming on to you right now."

Vegeta scoffed and ascended the metal staircase to Bulma's huge work area. "It's my breakfast. I'm just trying to avoid as many potentially awkward situations as I can right now."

"Oh, I know. Me too. I've been down here since like six forty five, and I'm kinda hung over. Um, bottle of bourbon in my room, _soooo_ not my proudest moment... my Mom had a little chat with me after Yamcha went through the roof and it was basically the most unpleasant and awkward thing I've had to do in a long time."

Vegeta tore open the package of turkey, took a handful, and passed the remainder over to Bulma. Sharing food was not something a Saiyan did lightly, and the engineer knew this. "Thank you," she took the plastic package and started eating, "I kinda skipped breakfast. Thankfully, there's a coffee maker in the lab..."

With earmuffs and a pair of clear-lens glasses for his eyes, Vegeta watched as Bulma loaded a full magazine into a long, heavy handgun. She kept the barrel pointed down at all times and pressed a switch that sent a suspended human-sized, fleshy mannequin wearing a suit of PTO-style armour down a track, finally stopping about five meters away.

"You ready for this?" Bulma yelled at Vegeta, who nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.

Vegeta could feel the heat and vibration of every round she fired, emptying the magazine in under thirty seconds. The power of this weapon was mighty, so potentially devastating, that Vegeta knew right away that it was capable of killing many creatures, maybe even him if he wasn't prepared for it.

She brought the gun down slowly, each movement controlled, and ejected the magazine into a gloved hand. After placing the gun in a holster on her hip, she brought the mannequin back and unhooked it so she could start to inspect the damage to both mannequin and armour.

There were cracks and serious indentations that indicated the armour had taken some damage from the bullets. When Vegeta looked at where Bulma had aimed, he realized she had aimed for the heart, liver, both lungs, stomach, at towards lower intestines two times.

Her aim was extremely accurate, and Vegeta was both impressed by her marksmanship and somewhat frightened.

"You wanna try this sometime? I trust you not to do something dumb with a gun."

"Thanks, but I'm not interested. I don't need a gun in order to produce a blast that will go through that armour and kill a man."

When they pulled off the piece of armour, they discovered that while there was very little damage to the mannequin. "If this were a human being, they would have, at the worst, some deep bruising to the gunshot sites. This is incredible, Vegeta! Do you know what this means? We could create effective, lightweight bulletproof ves- hell, body suits! Sports equipment! If we create ultra-heavy blends or weights of this textile, oh, and maybe some lightweight versions... oh man, the things we could make! This could revolutionize protective gear and even medical equipment!"

"Hmm, we... ah, the PTO has different grades and weights of armour, too. I prefer medium-light weight; enough to provide shock absorption and protection, but it doesn't hinder my movements too much."

Bulma leaned back against her work-bench, arms folded across her chest, and she sighed loudly. "Ah, great. Why'd you have to go and encourage my idea like that? You up to getting your brain picked for an hour or two, since you confirmed my little idea about the armour-weight thing? I'll make more coffee."

* * *

Ten days later, Yamcha returned to the compound and moved his things into one of the smaller guest-houses, staying fairly far away from Bulma for several days and avoiding Vegeta altogether. From what Vegeta could tell, the human named Yamcha trained somewhere off the compound.

Not that he was getting any sort of impressive results, at any rate. Vegeta would watch him come and go, but made a point of avoiding him.

On the sixth night after Yamcha's return, he chose to speak with Bulma, and invited her to enjoy one of the increasingly-rare warm evenings out on the patio. Vegeta was locked away in his simulator, allowing them to speak freely.

"I knew how angry you were, and rightfully so, after I slipped up. But then you went behind my back... and with all the peop- _men_ out there, it had to be Vegeta. Why? I can't wrap my head around why exactly you sleep with him and spend time with him. It's weird. _He's_ weird. He's dangerous."

"I know, but-"

"No buts, Bulma. I honestly don't know what to say to you, other than that I hope he's worth it. I really hope you're happy with whatever arrangement you two have going, because I doubt it's ever gonna be the kind of thing where you're ever gonna be loved, let alone ever respected."

The engineer wiped away tears running down her cheeks. Yamcha didn't seem particularly moved by how upset she was. "Just... give the guy a chance. He's got nowhere else to go. He's... it's cliche, but he's had such a hard life already..."

"He is a mean, emotionally unstable, _alien_ charity case," Yamcha hissed through his teeth, "you sure did upgrade, didn't you? I'm gonna leave before I say anything else that might be too honest for you to handle right now. Good night, Bulma."

* * *

A month had passed since Yamcha had returned to the compound, and after gradual exposure and uneasy words they were both forced to exchange on regular occasions, he and Vegeta were used to each other and sometimes had perfectly civil conversations. They both seemed to realize it was a good idea to just not talk about Bulma, for the sake of avoiding a one-sided fight. (Not to mention, Vegeta didn't want to upset the people building his simulators.) In one of his near-acts of kindness, the Saiyan taught the human a series of stretches to relieve next-day pain after a particularly gruelling training session. When Yamcha went to thank the Saiyan, he merely scoffed at the extended hand and said that it was out of pity and not any sort of friendship.

And then one night, as Yamcha sat in the darkened living room and watched an action film about a duo trying to steal a rare diamond from an underground vault, Vegeta slipped into the room (his ability to move about silently was still terrifying to Yamcha) and took up a spot in one of the corner seats, curling his legs underneath him. He said nothing the entire time, only speaking up after Yamcha had switched off the television: "that was one of the better films I've seen. Good bye."

_He has to be the weirdest guy I've ever met... what was that all about? Was that his way of indicating that he's going to tolerate my presence?_

One afternoon while jogging around the grounds, dressed in running shorts and a tank top, Vegeta caught a serious chill in the air, and a sudden gust of wind raised goose-pimples on his bare arms. Disturbed by this, he went back inside, changed into a sweatshirt, and he went to the kitchen and found Yamcha sitting at the table, eating a late afternoon lunch

"Hey man, how's it going?"

"It's cold outside," Vegeta filled an electric kettle and switched it on, "and I am not particularly amused."

"Um, yeah? That's 'cause it's autumn, dude."

"Uh-huh. Autumn. Awhh-tuhm..." stomach growling, Vegeta rummaged through the cupboards until he spotted half a bag of his favoured tortilla chips and spicy salsa. He took a seat across from Yamcha's place, and the human warrior struggled to suppress a whimper. "That explains the changing leaves. It's quite pleasing to the eye, all those burning colours."

"That's kind of poetic, dude. Ever seen anything like this before?"

"Not really," Vegeta actually made eye contact with Yamcha and crunched on a mouthful of chips, "some places only have one season, maybe two. Some have periods of lush vegetation followed by fire. Others, extreme ice or extreme heat. Earth seems to vary a lot and it's quite temperate. But it's all very interesting to look at."

Another mouthful of chips. Vegeta looked at Yamcha's plate and tried to figure out what he was eating. "Explain your meal to me."

"Umm, it's a curry potato inside a roti and a side of grilled chicken with rice and peas...? Do you... know what those are?"

"Vaguely..." more chips before he continued, "I know what all the ingredients are but this is obviously another variation on them. You people have so many different varieties of cuisine that I can't keep track."

Yamcha laughed nervously and took a bite of his roti, looked at what Vegeta was eating, and figured they could find some common ground if the topic of conversation was restricted to food: "You like that salsa, huh?"

Through a mouthful of chips, Vegeta posed: "what clued you in?"

"Heh... um, do you like the food here on Earth? I mean, given that Saiyans need to eat a lot of food and all..."

"I do," Vegeta crumpled up the empty bag, tossed it into the air and mindlessly disintegrated it, "most of it is good, but a little confusing at the same time."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing seems standard," he noticed the kettle boiling and stood up to brew a mug of green tea, "it always varies, even the same so-called "recipes" may use different components according to the cook's preferences, and... or perhaps it is also due to the different cultures that exist on this planet? I don't know. During my first long-term stay here, I often ate a dish you call "Pad Thai" and have very much enjoyed it. Last week, the old man offered to order in the same dish for lunch and it looked and tasted different! Why the hell was it so different? I mean, sure, it was good, and I understood it was Pad Thai, but it was _not_ the preparation I had become used to!"

"I think you may have answered your own question, Vegeta."

The Saiyan barked a laugh and smirked at Yamcha. "You're a bit more clever than I thought."

"I certainly can be," Yamcha smirked back and took another bite of his roti, "humans can be pretty complex, y'know."

"Whatever," turned to head upstairs, "you are to acquire more of these chips and salsa after your meal and you are the bring both to me in one hour."

Yamcha rolled his eyes and patted his jeans pocket, feeling enough heavy coins to pay for the Saiyan's salty snacks. "Weirdo..."

* * *

One morning in late November, Vegeta awoke to find the grounds of Capsule Corp covered in a layer of shimmery frost. Fascinated, he went outside (dressed in his light training clothes) and the sight of curling patterns of ice on car windshields captured his attention for several minutes. The sky was a cool, pale grey, streaked with bands of orange and pink. He stayed outside until he was shivering, and when he returned inside he did his best to ignore an odd tickle in his throat and sinuses.

After a full morning of vigorous, intense training, Vegeta skipped lunch (he wasn't hungry, which was strange) and went straight to bed for an unusually long nap. When he awoke at three twenty in the afternoon, his throat was sore, and he felt a little warm.

He went downstairs, made a cup of tea (he was sure it was called chamomile) and went to the living room. By then he felt very odd, like his head was being stuffed full of gauze, and his thoughts grew sluggish. After a third of his mug of herbal tea he set it on the table and lay on his side, feeling dizzy. He took a slow breath and shut his eyes.

_...Vegeta?_

_...Vegeta?_

"Vegeta!"

"Mmuh?" His eyes opened and he forced himself awake, strangely aware that something was about to hit him and hit him very hard. Forcing himself upright, the feeling of a chest and sinuses full of mucus, fever, and full body pain overtook his senses. He coughed, rattling his chest painfully and doubling over.

"Dude, you don't look so good," Yamcha passed over a wad of tissues, "you are like drenched with sweat."

"I'm cold..." Vegeta's voice was thin, his vocal cords too swollen to work.

"Ooh, man. You don't _sound_ good either. Um, do your muscles ache?"

The Saiyan shivered and wrapped a shawl around his shoulders.

"Heh. Well, I'm gonna get some help. Just stay put, alright?"

"Mmmh..." Vegeta shut his eyes and was asleep seconds later.

His eyes fluttered back open three hours later and two smells hit him at once; the first being the unpleasant, borderline-sickening quality his sweat had developed, and the second being the inviting, mouth-watering scent of roast chicken.

"Welcome back to the realm of the living," Bulma was beside him, eyes focused on a book, "you've been asleep for a while."

"What's wrong with me?" Vegeta slowly sat up, the room on the verge of spinning, and once he was upright he had to lean back into the back of the couch, energy spent in a few simple movements.

"Too early to tell, sad to say. I've been monitoring you and right now you're running what I suspect is a low-grade fever. By Saiyan standards, that is. One hundred and five point five degrees, to be exact. Yamcha said you reported muscle pains. Are they present now?"

Vegeta nodded, and then let out a rattling cough.

"Ah-huh, and you have a cough, too. The best course of action is to see you through tonight, and to call a doctor tomorrow if we need to. But you've probably picked up a bit of a cold."

"A what?"

"A "cold" is an infectious virus that basically everybody encounters at least a few times over the course of their lifespan. Personally, I get it like every year. There's no cure, but your immune system will do a fine job of dealing with it, and we have an unbelievable range of conventional medicines and traditional remedies to help manage the effects. Not to mention, we have some of the synthesized versions of the medicines you gave me! I think we have analogues of the painkillers you're used to using, along with very good disinfectants."

He looked up at her, gave a small nod, and leaned sideways into a cushion. "I don't feel so good."

"Just a sec," Bulma went into the kitchen, poured a can of ginger ale into a glass filled with crushed ice, and pulled a sleeve of saltine crackers from the pantry, "eat these really slowly. And tiny sips."

Incredibly, Vegeta took Bulma's advice the first time and nibbled on the corner of a saltine. After several minutes and a third of a saltine later, Vegeta thought about the good smell coming from the kitchen once more. "What smells so good?"

"Chicken soup. One of our more traditional remedies for illness, heartbreak, and general malaise."

"Mmm," Vegeta fished a sliver of ice out of his glass and sucked on it, "sounds good."

"I can get you a cup of soup, if you'd like. Are you in a lot of pain right now?"

"Not a lot. But it's present."

Bulma went to the kitchen and returned with a mug of chicken soup and one of the synthesized painkillers Vegeta was used to taking. Over the course of twenty minutes, as the two watched an episode of a soap opera Bulma favoured, Vegeta picked at his soup, finishing only half his serving. He barely noticed the television program, most unusual given his tendency to pepper programs with salty, cutting (and often hilarious) remarks about the characters or the story-lines. Shakily rising from the couch with the shawl wrapped around his shoulders, Vegeta made his way upstairs, shivering and feeling stranger by the minute.


	40. In Sickness

Bulma checked on Vegeta at eleven thirty, finding him fast asleep; curled up on his side and still fully dressed from what she could spot underneath the covers. Feeling for the Saiyan and what appeared to be his very first experience with a typical Earthling illness, she crept in and left a mug of water and box of tissues on his bedside table.

At half past three, Bulma awoke to the sounds of painful crying. She pulled on her housecoat and went across the room, tracing the noise to Vegeta's room.

She didn't bother to knock. She went in and found the bathroom door ajar, spotting one of Vegeta's legs practically wrapped around the toilet. He dry heaved, and it was obvious nothing was coming out of his stomach any more. He'd pulled off his shorts and underwear, down to an oversized t-shirt. Sweat dripped down his face and he shivered uncontrollably, teeth chattering.

"Can't stop," he gagged and spat out a wad of spit.

"Do you want help?"

"Help," he gagged again. More spit, more retching, and Vegeta spat out something Bulma identified as bile.

Before Bulma could ask him if he could sit up, the Saiyan had apparently passed out and crumpled onto the floor. Bulma took the digital thermometer he'd left on the sink and held up it to his forehead. His temperature had risen dramatically, to one hundred and ten point six degrees, becoming what the engineer could only guess was a dangerously high fever for a Saiyan if his normal temperature was around one hundred and three. She managed to rearrange him into a recovery position before running to her parent's room for help.

The following five minutes were a flurry of people being shaken awake (Yamcha was awakened via a text message that simply told him there was an emergency on the second floor of the house), a phone call to Capsule Corp's house doctor (she arrived eleven minutes later, her red hair twisted into a bun and her grey eyes heavy), and before Vegeta could object (he faded in and out of consciousness) there were five different humans in what he considered his private space. There were people changing the bedding while Yamcha sat on the edge of the bathtub and filled it a third of the way up with lukewarm water before picking Vegeta up and easing him into it. The doctor quickly washed her hands in the bathroom sink and started to pull supplies and medicines out of her bag; she prepared a syringe with a powerful anti-nausea medication and another with a fever-reducing drug.

Vegeta came to again after he'd soaked in the water for about two minutes, but he didn't resist or snap at anybody. He gazed up at Bulma and barely noticed that he was being lifted out of the tub again so the doctor could rub an alcohol swab across the bottom of his upper thigh before jabbing him with the syringe, giving him a steady intramuscular injection of a fever-reducer before delivering the anti-nausea medication to a site a few inches away.

"I want to take a saliva sample once he's asleep and comfortable," the doctor clipped a tiny heart monitor onto his fingertip and looked at Yamcha, "you keep his hands above water. I've got some extra equipment in my car, would somebody mind going downstairs and getting it for me?"

"I'll go," Dr. Briefs held his hand out, awaiting the doctor's car key, "what am I looking for?"

"Large, hard-shell case. Has number 3 on it."

"Why are all you people in here?" Vegeta's voice was weak and he managed to focus on the people in the bathroom for just a split second before his head lolled to the side. He dragged the hand without the heart monitor attached into the water and weakly flexed his fingers.

After another four minutes, Vegeta was pulled out of the bathtub and laid out on some towels. He still didn't object, in fact he said nothing at all. Still in his t-shirt, nobody was willing to pull his clothing off. Finally, Bulma threw her hands up, went to her bedroom, and brought over her extensive first aid kit. Using a pair of blunt-tipped scissors, she cut his clothing off and wrapped him in a towel from the navel down.

"You're going to be alright," she helped the Saiyan sit upright, supporting much of his upper body.

"The lines are moving, look," his eyes followed the corners of the bathroom walls and watched the lines move back and forth, "shimmer shimmery... was the wallpaper always silver?"

"You've got _quite_ the fever, tough guy," Bulma wiped his brow with a damp facecloth, "the wallpaper in here is cream and gold..."

"Really?" Vegeta let out another giggle, sounding practically adolescent, "I'm on fire. Like th-" he yawned, "like... the-Idon'tknow..." he drifted off and his expression became grim, "am I dying?"

"Of course not." Bulma dabbed the cool cloth on his chest, but looked up at the doctor to see if she was about to express any doubts. She shook her head, a firm "no", and continued looking through her bag for medication samples to give the Briefs.

"I don'wanna die, not like this," he squeezed Bulma's arms, grip weak, "not to the dark. Keep the light on."

"You're going to be fine," Bulma wiped his brow with the cloth, "the flu just makes you feel like you're dying. C'mon, we should get you in bed."

It took both Bulma and Yamcha to carry Vegeta, since he was both heavier than his build let on and started to struggle the minute he felt Yamcha's fingers make contact with his bare, overheated skin. Once he was back in his bed (and did it ever feel comfortable, it was enough to make him forget that he was angry about being carried) he accepted a clean shirt and lazily pulled it over his head. Bulma took his temperature again, and it had already gone down by two degrees.

"Well, I think you're running a regular high fever now, instead of a dangerously high fever."

"Mm," the medication was taking hold and Vegeta yawned and settled in, "sick of people touching me..."

Dr. Briefs returned with the large case, which contained a stand and equipment for an IV drip, a small tank of oxygen and respirator if needed, and two small mobile heart monitors. Vegeta didn't even flinch when the doctor inserted a thick hypodermic needle into a vein traced on the top of his hand and hooked him onto a slow drip to replace all his lost fluids, and to everybody's surprise he allowed the doctor to swab the inside of his cheek when she asked.

The last thing the doctor managed to do was give the Saiyan two instant-dissolve tablets of loperamide before he was truly unconscious. At five past five in the morning, the doctor was satisfied with how Vegeta had stabilized and said she'd be back in another eight hours to check on his progress.

"I don't think he's gonna be active for a while. Keep him quiet, keep the room cool, and try to take his temperature every hour. If it starts going up again, call me right away. We can't ignore the possibilities of complications or things getting more serious... this guy's never dealt with the flu before, has he? I'm worried what could happen if he were admitted into a hospital."

"He won't tell me his full medical history," Bulma rolled her eyes, "so I don't know what types of illness he's encountered before... but this just slammed him. We, uh, managed to actually make analogues of some medicines he was carrying when he arrived here..." Bulma paused to make sure the story was still in line but didn't reveal too much, and watched as the doctor's eyebrows rose, "but I'm not really sure how effective they're gonna be yet. He was doing just fine up until the late afternoon, when he complained about some muscle pain and seemed fatigued. Um... do you think there's a possibility he's gonna get worse?"

"Only time can tell. But for now, I can give you these medicines to manage symptoms and keep him comfortable, and I have faith that he will be in good care until I come by later. For now, however, I'm gonna go home to see if I can't catch forty winks before getting up again so I can get my kid fed and off to kindergarten."

* * *

Vegeta awoke just after one in the afternoon and immediately noticed the IV line in his hand and the heart monitor clipped on his fingertip. He recalled fragments of his night; being very sick multiple times, vomiting up the water Bulma had left for him, along with his own medications. Feeling like he was on fire. Water. A lot of cool water. People looming over him, their voices and faces distorted, and the idea they were all looking at him with eyes made of stone.

Walls of silver, and a creeping terror that he was going back into the dark and cold for good when he found himself surrounded by the water. It couldn't have been real.

He sat up and looked at the clear jelly bag hooked onto the IV stand and figured he must have been very dehydrated. There was still some fluid remaining, which meant he was stuck in bed. The IV may have to stay in, but this thing's annoying, Vegeta thought as he pulled off the heart monitor and set it on the bedside table.

Barely ten seconds had passed before he heard a yell from somewhere on the main floor, something heavy dropping to the floor, and a pair of feet running up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his room.

"Vegeta!" The door burst open, and Bulma took a few seconds to register that Vegeta was actually awake and sitting upright. "Uuugh! You scared the hell out of me! I thought you flat-lined!"

"Huh? You mean that thing on my fingertip?"

"Yeah," Bulma's voice still shook but she took the chair from Vegeta's desk and sat beside his bed, "it's a heart monitor. The doctor gave us two hand-held monitoring devices, so I was able to keep an eye on you from the living room. You gave us quite the fright last night, you know. Your fever was so high that we had to get the doctor to make a house call."

"Did you put me in the tub or something?" Vegeta looked at Bulma and started to wonder if one of the looming figures really had put him in water, or if he'd just been experiencing some vivid hallucinations.

She nodded. "Yamcha did. Ran the bath and kept an eye on you too. I mean, we had to! I'm sure you're mortified right now, and I apologize for that... but damn, your fever was unbelievable. We're talking on the verge of having seizures or brain damage. You had just passed out when we intervened."

Vegeta let her words sink in for several minutes. The human called Yamcha had done something very noble. Vegeta didn't like the idea of being that out-of-control against his own will; he knew that being so weakened by illness meant Yamcha could have just as easily drowned him, and in spite of all the animosity between the two, the human had apparently helped him without a second thought.

He didn't exactly like the guy, but Vegeta was going to remember what Yamcha had done for him.

"Wow," he finally mumbled, "I must have been in bad shape."

"You still are, tough guy. Why do you think there's a needle in your hand? The doctor thinks that your body is currently battling a type of virus called "influenza" right now, and unlike a cold, the flu, as we call influenza in colloquial language, is more serious than a cold. She took a saliva sample. You were, um, surprisingly cooperative."

" _In-fluh-ehn-tzah_ ," he sounded it out, "how bad is it?"

"Let me put it to you this way, Vegeta," Bulma rose from the chair and adjusted the curtains to let a little sunlight in the room, and then turned on an oscillating fan on the desk, "after a massive, devastating, four-year long war that spanned the entire globe had finally started to come to an end, a strain of influenza rapidly spread across every continent and it killed tens of millions of strong, healthy, young adults with good immune systems. There are different strains of the virus and it continues to kill, year after year. What's worse, the virus spreads so easily that the chances of us pinning down exactly how and where you picked it up are slim to none."

_Oh fuck. Earth is just teeming with potentially dangerous diseases and I'm probably vulnerable to a ton of them._

Vegeta distinctly recalled wondering aloud if he was dying when he'd been in the tub.

"Not dying," he reassured himself, "I'm just really fucking sick."

"You _aren't_ dying. The doctor's coming back in a little while to check on you. She'll probably give you some more shots too, just so you keep fluids down."

"Shots of what?"

"Different drugs, which are injected into your muscle. We usually use the buttock or thigh. One is to so you won't be throwing up constantly, one to keep your fever down, and one more to, well... two little tablets to keep you a bit stopped up, if you catch my drift."

He did. "This virus is bullshit. You know I tried to take care of myself," Vegeta shifted his weight on the bed and watched Bulma pull fresh clothing out of his dresser drawers, "but so much for that course of action." She was getting a bit too close to one small box that contained several vials, some of them containing substances he was certain she'd disapprove of.

"How did you manage to do that?"

"Because I have my very own personal pharmacy in case of things like this, but I didn't expect to come down with something that would make me vomit up my own medicine thirty seconds after swallowing it."

"You have a what?! Holy shit, Vegeta, a _pharmacy_? Are you some kind of intergalactic drug dealer?"

"No! I've moved drugs as part of busine- errr, _when I was looking for Kakarot_ ," he sighed and internally chastised himself for speaking without thinking when he was obviously incapacitated, "I made a point of collecting medical supplies and medicine whenever I had the chance, and so I picked up _a lot_ of medicine. As many kinds as I could find, considering I'm going to be here for a while and got the feeling something would happen to me, sooner or later. Anyway, at some point in the night, maybe just after midnight, I woke up and knew things were getting worse. First I had to vomit, so I did, and went back to bed. Twenty five minutes later, I was up again. I've been ill before, but this virus is a new one. The first thing I did was take a drop of a compound called C-2 mixed with water, because that what Planet Trade members usually turn to when they're feeling sick, but all it did was make me throw up again! Then I tried taking a pain relief tablet, dry, and once again I threw it up. Then I realized how hot my head felt, so I tried a fever compound and went to the washroom intending to take a cool shower... that's where things got weird, and I was seeing shit that wasn't there."

Stunned, Bulma processed Vegeta's near-admission to what sounded like recreational drug use and finally choose to take it for what it was and nothing more. "I'm impressed you tried to take care of yourself first. You obviously do take care of your body, but maybe your medicines in their current forms aren't effective against what you're currently fighting? Do you... um... is there such a thing as "the flu" where you're from?"

"No. We have viruses that go around, especially if you're stuck on a transit ship, but this is unusual. Even the viruses that PTO soldiers tend to pick up in close quarters aren't this devastating- at most you throw up once or twice before taking a pill and forgetting all about it."

"You mind if I take some samples of your medicines? Later, of course. Um... I'm glad you're feeling talkative today! I like talking to you. I like you, Vegeta."

"Mm," the Saiyan was still totally exhausted, "I'm thirsty. And a bit hungry. Wonder if I can manage without barfing it all back up, hmm?"

Bulma brought the thermometer to his forehead. His fever was down to one hundred and six degrees. "That's a promising sign... alright, the deal is this: when humans get the flu and barf everything back up, we start with little bits of bland stuff to avoid overwhelming a sensitive stomach. Once the doctor's been around, maybe we can try a bit of soup. So... you want some saltines, or a piece of dry toast?"

Over the course of a very long week, Vegeta gradually recovered to the point where there was no longer a risk of complications arising from his bout with the flu, but the illness did not leave him quickly. He slept often, was rarely talkative, had little appetite, and seemed quite depressed.

After nine days, Vegeta could keep down a solid meal, occasionally asked for second helpings, and while he moved around the house much more often, aside from some gentle stretching done in the privacy of his bedroom he did not expend much energy. He didn't even discuss training. Over the course of the second week, he struggled with chest congestion, coughing up a thick but clear mucus, and he cursed every time he had to take another teaspoon of a foul-tasting decongestant that reminded the Saiyan of a pungent, corrosive tree sap he'd once encountered on a purge mission- he'd accidentally touched an injured tree with a gloved hand while making his way through thick bush, only to have the sap dissolve the material in under thirty seconds.

When he woke up early and sat down for breakfast one morning, still recovering and still reporting fatigue, Mrs. Briefs noticed the Saiyan had lost a significant amount of weight. His complexion was a bit sallow again, and there were circles under his eyes. The Saiyan poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped into his chair, not noticing much of anything.

"I hope your appetite is returning, sweetie, because there's a lot of food on this plate..."

Over a plate filled with eight oversize pancakes, along with a large bowl of fruit salad and two ramekins of thick cream, Vegeta noticed there were shiny little decorations placed around the room; Red and white candy sticks displayed in jars, flickering candles, tinkling silver bells hooked onto pantry handles, tiny twinkling lights had been strung up around the perimeter of the kitchen window, and glittery, cheerful figures of fat little creatures Vegeta had never seen before had been placed in the centre of the table- why hadn't he noticed those when he'd sat down?! Had he really been that out of it before the food? He became aware of the smell of something warm and sweetly spiced baking in the oven, and realized there were several wire racks of cookies and cakes cooling on the counter.

"Alright. This is new," he looked around the kitchen warily, "what the hell is this stuff?" He picked up a figurine of a sweetly-smiling snowman and scowled at it. Why was there a carrot in the middle of its head? Was this figure a representation of some mythical creature? Why did it wear a scarf?

Bulma finally came down to see Vegeta staring at a snowman figure. Things were, in a very odd way, getting back to normal.

"It's almost Christmas, honey! You're going to love it," Mrs. Briefs took Vegeta's cup of coffee and topped it off, "and I think you'll love all the yummy treats I'm making for the occasion."

Vegeta looked at Bulma and raised a brow. Explain now, his expression commanded.

"Major holiday coming up, big guy! Good thing you're getting better in time for one of the most famous celebratory feast days on the planet. Our family celebrates a holiday called "Christmas", which falls right around the time of winter solstice. Different cultures and religions have their own celebrations and feast days which occur around the same time, and based on what I've experienced, _all_ of them are a lot of fun."

Vegeta took a forkful of the thick whipped cream and placed it on top of his third pancake. So humans marked the solstice as well- he'd seen other races celebrate seasons (rainy season celebrations were very common) and had been invited to their feasts (one of the perks of taking on otherwise dry diplomacy missions). "I see... I'm presuming this is the sort of thing where I'm expected to participate in a ritual or ceremony?"

"If by ritual you mean maybe receiving a few gifts... but only if you want to, that is. And eating and drinking. But you don't have to do anything you don't want to. We're not really religious or anything, so we just invite friends over and serve a lot of good food and alcohol."

"Hang on," Vegeta set the figurine down and made a point of turning it away so he didn't have to see its face, "so you're telling me you people have a holiday dedicated to eating, drinking, and giving people gifts, and it just happens to fall around winter solstice?"

_Eh, he'll be into it if we go with that..._

"Pretty much. Don't worry about finding me a present, though," she winked at him across the table, "just focus on getting better."

Vegeta dragged a raspberry through the cream, "even if I did have money, I wouldn't know what to spend it on. And it appears that you already have two of everything..."

Bulma laughed. "At least your sense of humour is finally returning," she lit a cigarette and winked at him, "I was starting to worry you'd purged it."

His face went a bit red and he focused on his breakfast. If he could manage to eat four or five pancakes, he'd go into the simulator and perform some deeper stretching and controlled movement with the gravity programmed to produce an environment similar to his home world.

If can I get through some training at ten times Earth's gravity, I'm at least getting back on track, but it's obvious to me now that I'm slipping back into feeling too comfortable around these people. Even if I can't leave the planet, it may be time to look into isolating myself for my own good...


	41. The Beginning of Winter

On Christmas morning, Vegeta awoke with the vague sense that it was a holiday. There would be no training. The world outside was unusually quiet, and after pulling on his new housecoat (in royal blue, Mrs. Briefs had given it to him the night before Christmas Eve, and he had coolly thanked her) and slippers he went downstairs to find the kitchen silent and dark aside from the twinkling lights in the window.

Fat, heavy snowflakes fell towards the earth and steadily accumulated on the ground, tree branches, cars, and rooftops. It appeared to Vegeta as though the entire landscape had been covered with a thick, glittering frost, and when he stepped outside onto the patio he marvelled at the lack of noise. All he could hear was the sound of grey, fat clouds slowly rolling thousands of feet above his head, and the occasional muffled crunch of car tires running over fresh snow on a street somewhere outside the compound.

Mouth slack and eyes shut, Vegeta turned his face towards the sky and absorbed the environment and the remarkable lack of sound. Snowflakes touched his cheeks and melted in an instant. It felt so peaceful, he would have been happy remain frozen in the moment for many hours if possible.

He went back inside and returned to the kitchen to find something to tide him over until breakfast was made. After a few minutes, Vegeta decided he may as well make coffee when he was at it, and soon had a pot on its way to being ready.

Around ten to seven, Mrs. Briefs came downstairs and found her guest watching the snow fall out the patio window, mug clasped in his hands. He'd just recovered from his battle with the flu, but was regularly training at a level that worried the matriarch.

"Good morning, Vegeta. Merry Christmas."

"I suppose that's the standard greeting, then... Merry Christmas."

"Thanks for making coffee, sweetie. Can I top you up?"

He followed her into the kitchen and did not stop her when she "topped up" his coffee with a light brown liquid from a black bottle. When she handed it back, he sniffed the coffee and dipped a fingertip in the coffee so he could taste it before sipping. He detected alcohol, yet at the same time he couldn't be entirely certain that it was potent enough to intoxicate him.

"Okay. What the hell is this?"

"Just call it a little Christmas cheer, honey. And I can make sure you always have a full cup if you're willing to help me out in the kitchen for a bit," she winked and added a shot to her own cup, considerably less than what he'd been given, "we also have brandy, and champagne..."

Vegeta shrugged and took full sip. If she was drinking it, then it was likely safe. Whatever she'd added to his coffee, it certainly did taste good. He could get through this day after all.

Although Vegeta was pleasantly drunk, a bit more talkative and was displaying his sharp wit by the time everybody decided it was time to open their gifts, the Saiyan refused to participate in the gift exchange and didn't budge from the reclining chair he'd claimed as his own, now drinking champagne and orange juice served in a delicate glass alongside another mug of spiked coffee. He really didn't know what to make of the "Christmas Tree"; it was tall and smelled wonderful, but the fact that the humans seemed to insist on covering its branches with more twinkling lights and sparkly baubles struck him as very strange indeed. In addition, there were literal piles of gifts scattered under and around the decorated tree, and it all seemed very ostentatious. Vegeta certainly enjoyed nice things and good food, but after so many years of being surrounded by luxury he could never fully access or acquire, he was at times quite uncomfortable with the extreme wealth of the family that had taken him in.

Bulma was shocked and struggled to hide her disappointment. "Why not? It's tradition! Besides, there might be something for you too!"

"We don't do it openly..." he dissolved into laughter when he caught his own double entendre, "it's, um, it is considered... well, you people would call it bribery. It's false flattery. Nobody but an enemy would present you with a gift in mixed company."

Everybody present decided to accept the explanation and not press the issue. He refused to have anything to do with the stocking filled with small items and even refused a sealed greeting card. Instead, Vegeta watched others open their gifts, ate sweets and nuts when offered, and drank. He didn't understand the running commentary about the gifts and need for the humans to take photographs of their gifts, but he quietly watched and tried to tolerate the display, barely disguising his shock and disapproval when Mrs. Briefs opened a small box to reveal a white gold and diamond tennis bracelet. When she put it on and proudly showed it off to everybody present, Vegeta looked away and downed half a glass of his champagne.

That's it, he told himself as he watched Dr. Briefs opening a small gift, I need to only be around these people when it's mandatory or in my best interest to be polite. I've been slacking...

_...but damn, orange juice and champagne is good... another glass wouldn't hurt today._

He looked out the window and watched the snow falling. He had to get used to the colder seasons on this planet- who knew what he would get himself into over the next two and a half years?

_I accepted their help when that flu hit me, but now I'm just fucking languishing here. The illness made me lose all I'd gained during the warm months. Apparently these people consider the days between winter solstice proper and the first day of the new year their big winter holiday, so on the first day of January..._

"Hellooooo, Earth to Vegeta!" Bulma waved her hand inches in front of his face, and he snapped back to reality.

He managed to catch himself before he snapped, and then drained his glass of orange juice and champagne. "What?"

"Um, you alright? You've been staring out the window for like five minutes now. We're gonna have some brunch..."

Vegeta finally accepted some of the gifts Bulma intended to give him on the evening of the thirtieth, after she decided it was time to visit his bedroom after everybody else had gone to bed.

True to form, Vegeta did not accept the gifts without resistance and questioning. "Why are there so many?"

"You think four things and some stocking stuffers is a lot?"

"What are you trying to get out of me? State your business."

"Oh my Go- _Vegeta,_ " she rolled her eyes and huffed, "they're just some Christmas gifts. Useful things that I personally think you'll need and maybe even enjoy. I'm not trying to get anything "out" of you, okay? I promise."

After a few minutes of consideration, Vegeta decided she was telling the truth. Perfectly well-intentioned gift-giving does seem to be part of the tradition, he thought, maybe it's not always a leveraging tool here. But still... they could be trying to lure me in closer.

"Alright. I accept your gifts, woman."

With the door closed and locked, Vegeta opened the gifts, starting with the stocking. It was filled with finely perfumed soaps packaged in old-fashioned tins, a package of his favourite face cream, a cellophane bag of toffee tied shut with gold ribbon, chocolates, a pair of thick mohair socks, a wide-toothed stainless steel comb, and a large bottle of argan oil.

He reluctantly opened the largest box first, complaining about the size, only to stop mid-sentence when he pulled out a smart blue parka with a detachable hood. After struggling to find something to say, he managed to thank Bulma: "this is very nice. Thank you. I really do think this will be good for your climate."

"You gonna open the other gifts?"

"If I must."

Bulma had also gifted him with a pair of treads to permit running across frozen ground, a black wool cable-knit sweater, and a small bottle of a strange, fragrant green oil. He tried to be gracious, but aside from a visual inspection he spent no time looking over his gifts, and he put them back in their boxes right away.

"Um..." Bulma pushed away a stray strand of hair, mentally noting that she needed to find a new hairstyle, "do you like them?"

"Sure," he shrugged, "I'll use them."

"C'mon, look at the oil again," Bulma reached into the smallest box and retrieved the bottle, playfully tilting it back and forth, "this is special oil... it warms up as you use it, and I know _juuust_ where you'd like it..."

_I have tonight and tomorrow night before lock-down. Might as well make the most of it._

Vegeta outright refused to participate in an sort of New Year's Eve celebrations. He declined when Bulma formally invited him to the family's small party and turned his nose up at offers of champagne and tasty morsels of food. When he sensed other humans entering the compound, Vegeta went upstairs and locked himself inside his bedroom.

By nine thirty, the Saiyan was forcing himself to wind down; it was tremendously difficult with the new energies present in the house and he was growing very annoyed with the increasing noise levels. He had ignored Bulma's offer to join her for a light dinner, and had only accepted a plate of prime rib and vegetables when it was left outside the door and left for him to retrieve when he damn well felt like it.

"What's his problem?" Yamcha overheard the tense exchange at Vegeta's door and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I dunno. Just let him work it out on his own time. He's in one of his little fucking snits over something."

"Psssht, who needs him anyway? C'mon Bulma, do you wanna celebrate this New Year together? As friends?"

Bulma looked up at Yamcha and gave him a nod and a weak smile. "I'd really like that."

* * *

At five fifty eight in the morning on the first of January, Vegeta finished his breakfast (cold prime rib, three oranges, and a half gallon of milk) and headed to the simulator, gym bag slung on his shoulder. Inside the bag he'd thrown a week's worth of clothing for training and leisure, several packages of rations, First Aid supplies, medicine, and toiletries. He trudged through the snow and climbed the stairs up into the simulator, preparing himself for the beginning of his self-imposed isolation.

When he heard the airlock hiss into a closed position, he sighed and switched on the lights. It was six-o-two, and Vegeta willed himself to train nonstop until noon. After he'd put his belongings in their appropriate place, he set the gravity to twenty five times the gravity on Earth and started to warm up his body.

At nine in the evening, Bulma was beginning to sense Vegeta wasn't coming out of the simulator for the night. He did that every once in a while, and would then sleep very late the next day. She set aside a generous portion of dinner in a large glass container and stuck it in the refrigerator, figuring he'd come back inside sometime after midnight.

By the morning of the third day, everybody in the house was growing concerned. They had seen many flashes and felt powerful vibrations coming from the simulator, but all attempts to communicate with the Saiyan had been unsuccessful- he ignored incoming call signals, didn't respond to knocks at the door, and if somebody tried to peek in through one of the port windows, a bright flash would go off, leaving the poor person who dared to check on the Saiyan with eyes that watered and stung for several minutes.

"Vegeta, please answer me! What's going on in there? Why aren't you coming out?" Bulma banged the door repeatedly with the flat side of her clenched fist.

Bulma could feel a fist slam into the door, seemingly fifty times as powerful and heavy as her own, and she gripped the icy stair railing and gasped in shock.

"Leave me alone!"

"Why won't you come out, Vegeta?"

"Because you're fucking with my head! Now go away before I blast this door!" Vegeta's roar was truly inhuman; open-throated and primal, his voice guttural and harsh.

That evening, out of a mix of frustration and concern, Bulma left a family-sized container of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken breast, another filled with salad greens and a small cup of dressing, a quart of milk, and baguette at the entrance to the simulator and banged three times on the door.

"You don't wanna come out? That's fine, Vegeta. There's something for you to eat at the entrance. I'm going now. Good bye."

There was no response. Just the thud of something very heavy hitting the floor, and Bulma got the feeling that it wasn't Vegeta.

Furious, she went to the lab and accessed the simulator's central computer. She disabled its navigation system and its quick-launch option. "You may stay cooped up in there, but you won't head off anywhere without giving me some notice, asshole..."

Satisfied, Bulma fetched the pack of cigarettes out of her sweatshirt pocket and savoured a celebratory smoke.

At three thirty in the morning on January tenth, Vegeta finally emerged from the simulator, all his clothing filthy and every muscle screaming from his intense training. He staggered inside the house, all his belongings shoved into the gym bag, and he lazily floated up the staircase, barely making it to his bedroom door.

He found the room exactly as he had left it, forgotten scrap of wrapping paper left on the dresser and all. Arms burning from all his exertion, Vegeta managed to dump his laundry into the basket (but mostly on the floor), tossed the near-empty bag in his closet, and forced himself into the washroom to rinse off.

Three minutes curled up under the spray of water was all that Vegeta could handle. He turned off the taps, draped a towel around his shoulders, and stumbled across the floor and fell onto his bed. After a minute of struggling, he managed to drop the towel to the floor and cover himself up to his hips before he passed out. He slept straight through until two thirty in the afternoon, coming to in a fog of full-body pain and exhaustion.

After willing himself to get up, Vegeta managed to pull on a pair of flannel pants, a sleeveless undershirt, and eased his aching feet into his slippers. He left his room, focused on finding something to eat, and almost didn't register the sight of Bulma making her way to her own bedroom, towel covering her wet bathing suit, until she stopped a foot away from him and gasped, looked up and down his body, shocked at the apparent beating it had taken over the nine full days Vegeta had spent locked inside the simulator.

"Oh my God, Vegeta... what have you done to yourself?"


	42. Deep In The Grey

Bruised and battered, Vegeta lay on Bulma's bed at her insistence; he was so exhausted that he didn't have the energy to argue with her beyond snapping at her once when she pressed around the edge of an oozing wound with a great deal of pressure. She dabbed at some of his fresh scrapes and cuts with an astringent before applying antibiotic cream to promote healing. He had bruises up and down his legs, some deep blue and purple and others sickly yellow and brown, cuts on his arms and even some on his back and stomach, deep scrapes to his chest, and what looked like an untreated sprain to his left ankle.

"Why the hell did you lock yourself in there for ten days?" Bulma brought some fresh clothes from his bedroom and watched him slowly dress himself in a fresh pair of drawstring shorts and a long-sleeved thermal top. He said nothing until he was fully dressed, ignoring her presence the entire time.

"Training," his face was hard to read, voice distant and raspy, "it's not so unusual."

"To go that hard, for that long?"

The Saiyan merely shrugged, to which the engineer shook her head with disapproval.

"Can you walk? I would guess you're very hungry."

"Well aren't you clever," he rolled his eyes and eased himself onto his feet, wincing as he stood upright, "supposing I might be hungry..."

"Yeah, you're starving," Bulma chose to ignore the Saiyan's needling and headed for the kitchen.

During Vegeta's ten day absence from the dining table, Mrs. Briefs had taken the time to prepare numerous large meals for the Saiyan and then froze them inside large aluminium containers, allowing them to be easily reheated in the quick-cooking convection oven. Bulma decided that Vegeta would just have to be content with a reheated container of chicken stuffed with ham and cheese, pasta in a simple tomato sauce, and green beans.

Still, she made a point of fixing a couple sandwiches for herself, and a few to tide Vegeta over before his main meal was ready.

"This is it?" He looked at the small stack of sandwiches at his place and was on the verge of seething. His eyes had gone from being sparkling and bright to glassy and almost dull.

"Well, _no_ ," Bulma spoke through a mouthful of turkey and Swiss cheese on rye, "it's the first course. Your main is being cooked as we speak."

He accepted this without a word and started eating. After two of the four sandwiches Bulma had prepared for him, Vegeta finally spoke: "winter fucking sucks."

"It's just starting. We've got it better here than a lot of places, though, and the snow will be gone soon. Our winters are pretty mild, actually, they're just awfully dull and grey for a while. You must really dislike the cold, huh?"

"Snow I can actually tolerate..." he sighed and moved on to his next sandwich.

Vegeta registered that he liked turkey, cheddar, and mango chutney on white bread, yet at the same time he realized that he wasn't actively enjoying his food, and Vegeta was a man with an adventurous palate, somebody who ate with gusto, so even he could recognize that suddenly enjoying something he'd liked before wasn't a particularly good sign.

He had spent an extended amount of time on several dozen different planets over the course of his lifetime, tried the foods and drink from different cultures by the hundreds, and only while when something wasn't enjoyable did he force himself to eat mechanically. If there was something Vegeta truly loved, it was food: around the age of nine he started to frequent food stalls, tasting and subsequently spending a fair portion of his money on fruits, sweets, preserves, meats, shellfish boiled in salty or slightly acidic broths (only from very reputable sellers), meats (especially marinaded and grilled meat), teas and tisanes, exotic alcohols, endless bottles of wine, and even different types of milk and cheese. A few times, he'd even tried concoctions remarkably similar to what the humans called "ice cream" during his travels. He lived for noodles, the universal foodstuff of any minimally civilized species, and sometimes figured he could survive on a steady diet of meat soups with noodles and not complain for a while. There were so few foods Vegeta actively disliked, and even then he could sometimes be persuaded into trying it if the presentation appealed to his sensibilities.

The chicken and pasta went down a bit easier, although Vegeta noticed he wasn't fully tasting his food again. He was slipping into that dreadful state when hopelessness reigned supreme; too tired to live, and yet somehow also too exhausted to die. He'd just have to ride it out and wait for his mood to pick up again. If he was lucky, his good mood would last for several weeks.

With food in his belly, Vegeta became more aware of the amount of physical pain he was in, and when he stood up from his seat at the table he grimaced and growled, shuffling into the living room. Bulma followed him from a considerable distance, now fully aware that something was off with Vegeta on that day (which was saying something) and hopeful she could at least try to help him.

She hadn't expected him to snap, ordering her to leave the living room so he could sleep in peace. Recalling the time he'd thrown the vase at the refrigerator, Bulma conceded and left the room, heading for the lab.

Vegeta woke in time for dinner, remaining silent through the meal and going to bed not long afterwards.

When he awoke the next morning, still in too much pain to entertain the thought of training seriously, he took many minutes to get up before reluctantly taking a shower. He stayed underneath the spray of the water long enough to rinse his hair out and lazily cleanse his skin.

Finally, Bulma decided it was time to confront Vegeta after she spotted him hovering to avoid putting any pressure on his legs and feet.

"You should come to the clinic for some x-rays, unless you wish to remain in pain," Bulma puffed on her third cigarette of the day as she lingered over her fourth cup of coffee, watching the Saiyan's body language and waiting for even a split second of emotion to register across his face. He was wearing the stern face again, likely wallowing in a sea of negative and circular thoughts.

"Fine," he didn't look up from his bowl of oatmeal, "whenever."

"After that, I would appreciate it if you would be willing to participate in a little test at the lab. Ten minutes long, non-invasive, and no documented negative side effects."

Vegeta looked up from his breakfast. He tilted his head up and sniffed loudly, and Bulma immediately caught on to his suspicions and demand for more information. She had seconds to convince him before he would dismiss her idea completely.

"It's a light experiment. I just want you to literally sit down near a special kind of lamp. I promise you that nothing bad will happen."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lowered his head again. "Fine."

* * *

The light was bright enough that Vegeta could perceive it through his shut eyes, even with the provided eye protection, but he didn't mind that on account that the light somehow made him feel just a little more at peace. The light came from a set of six large flat-panel lamps, each designed to simulate the light, colour, and warmth of a warm summer's day at high noon. He lay fully reclined in a white, ergonomic chair that had seemed to cradle his body.

He'd been provided with a pair of remarkably effective compression garments designed to be worn on his lower legs, spanning from the ankle to just below the knee, and the pain in his legs subsided enough that he was comfortable walking. Apparently he had sustained an injury the humans called "shin splints" as a result of his intense training, something he'd experienced before, but the news of this really didn't bother him at the moment; all in all, actually he felt quite good.

The loud click of the lights automatically shutting off after ten minutes left startled him enough that he blinked his eyes open, slowly sat up, and pulled the glasses off. He hummed, low in his throat, and gently dipped his head in recognition to Bulma's presence.

"How was that?" Bulma smiled and wrote something down on a notepad.

"Alright. Is that it? Your experiment?"

"That was it. How are you feeling right now, Vegeta?"

"I feel fine. Good bye," the Saiyan slid out of the chair and vanished out of the lab.

* * *

Vegeta suddenly awoke from deep sleep at three fifteen in the morning, his innards twisting together and the hairs on his arms rising. Something was off, and he was going to find out what. When he passed by each of the bedrooms and realized each occupant was still fast asleep, he tried to assure himself that nothing was wrong, but the terrible feeling of mounting anxiety grew out of the pit of his stomach and branched right up through his esophagus, and he wanted to retch.

He went downstairs to the kitchen, found a large prepared meal consisting of lamb curry over basmati rice, and reheated it in the microwave. With his hot meal transferred to a large plate and a carton of fruit juice, Vegeta went to the living room and turned on the television. As he ate, he surfed through the channels and eventually settled on a forgettable black and white film, desperate for something to fill the silence.

Outside, snow floated down from the heavens and settled on the ground.

At around four forty five, Vegeta was comfortable with the idea of returning to bed. He lay curled on his side in his large bed with the covers drawn up to his chin and sunk into a state of full-body relaxation, slipping into a deep slumber.

_Vegeta found himself standing in the middle of a run-down tavern. He could make out everything in the room, but everything seemed to have an odd haze around its perimeter, from the chairs and tables to the poorly-stocked bar._

_He approached the bar and reviewed the menu, its glowing green words pulsing against a black light board, and shrugged._

_The bartender materialized from thin air. Almost instantly, Vegeta recognized the bartender as Jabuka, many months dead and now dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and fitted black bottoms. His once-dewy, flawless skin was ashen, circles the colour of bruise rimmed his dull, sunken eyes, and his classically handsome face had become hollow and gaunt. Jabuka nodded at him, selected a glass for the Saiyan, dipped his head down, and held the cup underneath his slack mouth to collect the blood that poured out of him in a steady trickle. When the glass was three-quarters of the way full, Jabuka raised his head and slid the glass across the bar to Vegeta before sinking down into the floor and vanishing._

_Disgusted, Vegeta began to push the glass away, but as his gloved fingertips made contact with the glass, the blood miraculously transferred from the inside of the vessel to the fabric of the white gloves, soaking his hands, and when he tore the gloves off, Vegeta found his hands covered with rapidly-cooling blood._

_He backed away from the bar, spotted a lone chair at a round table, and took a seat. He tried to calm himself, explaining away the terrible sight of Jabuka as a hallucination, and struggled to still himself. As the blood on his hands started to dry into his skin, it itched and he tried to scratch it, only pushing the blood underneath his nails at best._

_Desperate to find a lavatory so he could wash his hands clean, he went to push the chair back when he felt two cold bodies brush against him before they suddenly appeared at the table, seated in their own chairs, and suddenly the table held a huge pitcher of beer and two empty glasses._

" _Heeeeeyyyyyyyy, Vegeeter," Raditz snarled at Vegeta, his dark eyes filled with fire and sharp teeth bared in an angry sneer, "it's been too long! How considerate of you to finally get around to properly dispatching my gorgeous body after you'd fucked around on Earth for a good while!"_

_Nappa's thick palm slammed on the top of the table."And how could you do that to me, Vegeta? After all my years of service, you give me such an undignified death!" Nappa's face was fixed in a deep scowl, and when Vegeta noticed that both deceased Saiyans had small, pointed black horns emerging from their temples, he actually recoiled. Their bodies looked strong and well-nourished, only adding to Vegeta's growing horror. Were they alive? What were they?_

" _At least your body was incinerated in the process, Nappa..." Raditz sniffed, taking the pitcher and pouring a glass of beer for himself and another for his partner._

" _What the fuck is going on here?" Vegeta realized he was frozen in his chair, forced to confront his two departed comrades. "You two are dead! Fucking dead! You should be in the exact same place I was!"_

_The two demonic-looking Saiyans cackled and clinked their glasses together, clearly enjoying Vegeta's deep confusion._

" _You wish you'd wind up in Hell!" Raditz continued laughing and managed to take a sip of his beer, "you're not even good enough for that. Castaway soul, that's what you are. Truly forgotten. I was only temporarily forgotten, but now I am amongst my Saiyan sisters and brothers. Nobody will notice when you're dead and gone. We've done very well for ourselves, however..."_

_Nappa nodded. "That's right. We Saiyans maintain order in the upper valleys of Hell and in return we get plenty of opportunities to fight, fuck, feast, and generally make the most of being dead and being in Hell. It's a pretty good deal..."_

" _This isn't real..." Vegeta's voice was caught in his throat, and when his left hand moved for the pitcher of beer, Raditz reached over and smacked his wrist._

" _ **THIS IS REAL!**_ _" A collection of familiar voices boomed around him._

_"You had a drink from the bar, bitch! Why didn't ya drink that? Jabuka wouldn't even make me a drink! Eh, Jabuka! C'mon, sugar dick, make me one of your drinks!"_

_Vegeta looked back at the bar and saw nobody. He was certain his expression completely gave away his terror when the two dead Saiyans laughed and went as far as playfully punching each other in the arm, obviously enjoying the surreal meeting._

_Vegeta stared at his bloodied hands, held them up for the two to see, and sneered back at Raditz. "Seem to have been given a cracked glass..."_

" _Lick it off... you always did like that sort of thing..." Raditz' eyes were locked on Vegeta's._

_Refusing to break his gaze, Vegeta ran the side of his right hand down the tip of his tongue. Raditz ran his tongue over his top teeth in silent reply._

_And that's when Vegeta noticed his father standing in the corner of the strange tavern, observing the conversation with no sign of amusement or approval, and just like the two deceased lower class Saiyans, King Vegeta also sported sharp back horns. As Vegeta took in the sight of his father, still unable to leave his chair, the King sunk down into the floor just as Jabuka had, leaving behind a huge burst of sulphuric flame and a puff of black smoke._

Scream ripping from his throat, Vegeta's eyes snapped open and he sat up in his bed, gasping for air and face dripping with sweat. Heart pounding and eyes darting around the dark bedroom, the Saiyan recognized his surroundings and waited several seconds in terrified silence for the visions of the dead Saiyans to reappear in his room.

Silence. Darkness. Warmth coming from the radiator.

He sensed everybody else was still asleep. Unsure of what time it was, he lay back down and wondered if it was a such a good idea to close his eyes again.


	43. On The Upswing

It took Vegeta an entire week to recover from his sprained ankle and shin splints, which caused him a fair amount of pain, especially at night. Over the duration of the week, Bulma insisted Vegeta spend time underneath the lamps, eventually increasing the time to a full thirty minutes.

Much to Bulma's surprise, Vegeta not only cooperated, but by the fourth day he was showing up at the lab on his own, hopping into the chair and muttering at her to "get that shit going right away".

Her idea to subject Vegeta to periods of time underneath simulated sunlight produced the effect she wanted: basically, his mood improved to the point where he wasn't snapping at anybody and even engaged in dinnertime conversation. She wasn't entirely surprised to discover his mood changed, and made notes of the change in his personality.

Over the course of the summer months, Vegeta had spent so much time sunbathing (and developing a very deep tan in the process) that it had become something of an inside joke between the Briefs family members, but the hot months had also been the months when Vegeta was at his most cooperative and borderline easygoing. So, naturally, Bulma thought it was ideal to replicate the conditions that were most likely responsible for his good mood: sunlight and warmth. It was just a hunch, but Bulma was also quite certain that the lunar cycle played a huge role in Vegeta's mood as well.

One night as he continued to recover from the injuries sustained during his seclusion in the simulator, Vegeta knocked softly on Bulma's door before creeping inside, opening the door just wide enough to let himself in before he noiselessly shut it. He could smell the oil-infused salts Bulma poured into her bath and sensed she was still in the tub.

He pulled off his shirt and lay on her bed, soon focused on the clutter on her bedside table. Why did she own so much crap? There were two jewelry boxes (Vegeta did notice she owned a great number of pieces, but almost never wore jewelry), a lamp, two screwdrivers, a pack of screws, a bottle of lotion, an ashtray (never empty) and two packs of cigarettes. He was certain she would be halfway through both packs, and a curious peek confirmed his suspicions.

The sound of splashing water, followed by a few moments of silence. Water going down a drain. The bathroom door opened to reveal Bulma in a short housecoat, her damp hair combed out (she was getting very tired of the permed hair) and pinned up. Her skin was flushed from the hot bath, something Vegeta picked up on right away.

"Not like you to hang around in here. What's up, Vegeta?" She rummaged through her very full wardrobe for something to wear to bed, making a mental note that she needed to go through what she owned and get rid of the things she didn't wear any more. It would give her an excuse to have a all-day shopping excursion at any rate.

"Mm," he continued looking at the clutter on her bedside table, "just wondering why you own so much crap."

"Yeah, I do need to get rid of some stuff, don't I?" She finally decided on a pair of cotton shorts and a light t-shirt, openly dressing in front of Vegeta. He'd seen it all before. When she lay beside him, he didn't get out of bed or sit up like usual, but instead he remained laid back on her bed, looking remarkably content.

"You're warm. Your skin is so warm. C'mere," he lazily rolled over and draped an arm over her midsection, resting his head on her breasts, "hnnngh, I am getting sick of this cold."

"Me too," Bulma ran her fingers through Vegeta's thick hair, "but it's supposed to warm up this coming week..."

"Oh, good. And hopefully everything won't look and feel so fucking miserable within the next seven days, too."

"Aw, Vegeta... you really hate this weather, don't you?"

"Positively _loathsome_."

"My poor, handsome prince..." Bulma wordlessly coaxed him into sitting up so she could shift her weight and took the opportunity to kiss his forehead, "but I know how to take your mind off the weather..."

* * *

When Bulma's period arrived on time two days later, a huge weight was relieved from her already-burdened shoulders. A few nights prior, she and Vegeta had sex on a few occasions over the course of several hours (not unusual) before the Saiyan opted to spend the night with Bulma in her room (quite unusual), even sleeping in until noon (very unusual).

She hadn't told Vegeta that the condom had actually broken inside her during one of their more vigorous sessions, opting to lie and tell him it had snapped as he withdrew.

"Happens from time to time, but don't worry! I doubled up with the pill anyway, so there's no risk of any accidents, if you know what I mean," she'd told him, slipping into the washroom to clean up.

Even with two methods of birth control, Bulma had felt very uneasy after the incident, and even after her period arrived, the engineer kept thinking about the fact that she'd had unprotected sex with the alien for an entire hour before coming to the conclusion that she needed to visit her physician just to confirm she hadn't picked up anything.

Then, over a dinner of roast chicken and vegetables, Bulma realized she knew very, very little about Vegeta's sex life before they'd met. She recalled his casual admission to buying sex from a prostitute. Sometimes, when he spoke of his past, Bulma picked up on something that hinted towards bisexuality. Although Vegeta seemed to dislike any mention of sex in mixed company, behind closed doors the Saiyan had a large sexual appetite, an interest in experimentation, and no reservations in talking about what he liked. His murky background left the engineer wondering just where and how he'd developed his skills in the bedroom.

A week later and with a clean bill of health, Bulma felt somewhat reassured and was more than happy to resume sexual activity with Vegeta. She'd denied his advances on several occasions over the week, and although Vegeta didn't persist or become angry if she said "no", he did pick up on some kind of new, uncomfortable energy that left him very confused about what was going on. Why does she suddenly dislike me, he asked himself, she's never done this to me before! How have I wronged her?

Of course, Vegeta wasn't about to ask her why she had been acting that way. It was quite possible that she was simply being a bitch for the sake of being a bitch, a behaviour the Saiyan was admittedly very familiar with. Sometimes he needed to just openly express his deep disdain or those around him, and the easiest way to do that was to just get mean, and as far as the Saiyan could tell, Bulma did exactly the same thing when she was stressed out, angry, under the weather, very tired, or hungry.

Finally, when they were alone in Vegeta's bedroom with the television set to a forgettable comedy film, Bulma asked him a line of questions that left him both very uncomfortable and quite uncertain as to answer them. "Just how many people have you slept with? Why do you hire prostitutes? When did you lose your virginity? Have you ever been treated for STI's?"

"The fuck's a "S-T-I"?" He replied through a mouthful of popcorn, brow rising with suspicion.

"A sexually transmitted infection."

"No," he lied, "that's one of the things I managed not to land myself in a clinic for."

"Hmm. So what about the other stuff?"

_I'd better tell her something now, lest I find myself living a life of celibacy.._.

"Alright, fine. Not as many as you may suspect. It's a rare man who doesn't visit a whore house at some point during his service, and I am no exception. Saiyans have voracious sexual appetites. My first experience was when I was nineteen. That's it."

Bulma's brows rose, although she wasn't surprised in the least by Vegeta's dry answers. She let this information sink in before following up: "so... who was your first time?"

"Raditz," the Saiyan answered without missing a beat, more interested in the popcorn by that point. When Bulma choked on her drink and coughed, totally surprised by the revelation, Vegeta looked over at her and shook his head with apparent disapproval. "You seem very surprised by all this."

"Well yeah," she cleared her throat, "you fooling around with Goku's brother isn't something I expected! Now don't get me wrong, I don't have any issues with i-"

" _Issues_?" His upper lip curled with disgust.

"Well, some women would be very, very surprised and possibly disapprove of a guy who... well..."

"I don't care about other women. I want to know why you're so surprised."

"I'm just... well, I am surprised! Because I thought you didn't like the guy."

"Oh, I hated Raditz. But we were close."

"In more ways than one, by the sounds of it... anyway, Vegeta, I was just wondering about all that because we are sleeping together, after all."

Vegeta's response was made in the form of his focus returning to the film, his hand always in the bowl of popcorn. When it was over, he requested Bulma to leave his room so he could get ready for bed. After his recovery period, he was ready to resume training, albeit at a significantly less intense level than at the beginning of January.

* * *

As the weather gradually warmed up and the snow melted until there was nothing left but thin patches in shady areas and piles of grey, filthy compacted snow and ice on the side of the roads, Vegeta settled into a training routine that was actually quite reasonable. He trained from five fifteen until seven thirty every morning except for Sunday (the one day he allowed himself to sleep in until eight after learning some human religious practices promoted or even enforced a day of rest), from nine until one thirty, and again in the afternoon or evening, whenever he awoke from his near-daily nap. When Vegeta wasn't training, napping, or eating, he frequently observed Bulma at work from a comfortable distance, occasionally engaged Mrs. Briefs in conversation (it gave him an excuse to watch her cook), and very rarely he spoke to Yamcha.

Sometimes, although the human was unaware of it, Vegeta watched Yamcha training and made fastidious mental notes about his weaknesses along what could be improved on, or exploited.

Bulma made sure to continue exposing Vegeta to the light experiment, still reporting his relatively decent moods, regular sleeping patterns, appetite, and overall physical condition.

One afternoon, as Vegeta rose out of the white chair that cradled his body during the light periods, one of the buttons on his shirt popped from the strain of his increasingly muscular chest.

"Guess you need to get that wardrobe updated, hmm? You've put on some weight yet again, buddy!" Bulma laughed at how poorly fitted the shirt had become in such a short period of time and looked the Saiyan up and down, admiring his built physique. He seemed predisposed to being lean, but between his rigorous training and diet, the weight gain was inevitable.

"Naturally. This means another trip to that place where you seem to acquire most of your own clothing, along with mine, correct?"

"You mean "the mall", Vegeta? Why, you wanna come?"

"I may as well," he shrugged, "considering I am the man wearing the clothing."

Oh dear lord, Bulma swallowed a lump in her throat, if he actually goes through with going to the mall... how's this gonna work?

"Sounds like a plan," she struggled to keep her voice cheerful, "we can head out in an hour if you want."

Again, Vegeta shrugged. "May as well."


	44. Escalation

* * *

Three hours into the shopping trip, Vegeta was beginning to regret his agreement to accompany the woman to the mall. While he was actually very impressed by the upscale shopping centre's architecture and found the concierge decent enough to measure up even to his well-travelled standards, the Saiyan disliked the crowds of human beings, especially the loud, young ones that appeared to travel in packs. Bulma called them "teenagers" and explained that they weren't even twenty years old yet, which caused Vegeta to roll his eyes.

"When I a "teenager", I was hard at work," he growled, "stupid, ungrateful fuckers have no idea how foolish they look. I was busting my fucking ass well before I was thirteen. Try se-"

"It's alright, Vegeta, they're not here to bother you. They're just stupid kids, like you said. We'll look at one more store, and find somewhere to rest and get something to eat, okay?"

The Saiyan grumbled and glared at a pair of young girls who stopped to stare at the incredibly muscular man, but relented and followed Bulma into a store selling clothing Vegeta immediately associated the clothing sold in this particular store with a word he'd heard Yamcha use, "preppy", and was instantly put off. When he spotted the mannequin displays that presented different outfits the store was selling, Vegeta was _really_ put off the preppy style. He was alright with the "golf shirts" but that was it. When Bulma held up a pair of royal blue and lime green checkered Bermuda shorts, his nose wrinkled with disapproval. He caught the scent of a cologne worn by a passing salesperson and sneezed. He'd had enough. He left and waited for Bulma by the fountain in the middle of the huge pedestrian walkway. He spotted her still looking at a dress, but refused to re-enter the store. Arms folding across his chest, he shut his eyes and waited. Vegeta was quickly learning that these shopping excursions meant Bulma would purchase a great deal of clothing for herself as well.

Bulma left the store ten minutes later, carrying yet another bag with clothing intended for her. She'd found plenty of things for herself and only a small selection of things for Vegeta. Overall, they hadn't had a great deal of success. Vegeta's clothing preferences were rigid, he took an immediate dislike to many stores for a variety of reasons (music, lighting, layout, even the smell of some places) and he would walk out after a few minutes. Still, they had picked up a few nice items, including a very smart leather jacket that Vegeta actually wanted to start wearing straight away. Vegeta had put on enough weight to require a slightly larger waistband and significantly larger shirts to accommodate his thick arms and broad shoulders.

Sensing the Saiyan's growing irritation with the entire excursion, she guided him towards a trendy restaurant and requested a quiet booth, further away from the majority of the diners. After five minutes and a half glass of water, the Saiyan's mood had levelled off.

"I can't read any of this," Vegeta didn't even glance at the menu before dropping it on the table, "order for me."

"You ought to pick up some of the written language if you're gonna be here for a while..." Bulma's eyes didn't leave her menu, internally debating between the salmon with baby potatoes and the steak sandwich.

"Fuck that," he scoffed, "there is no point in me learning your silly written language. Just order something good."

"Alright then," she smiled and set her menu down, "I'm honoured you trust me that much."

"If I don't like my meal, I'll just eat you instead," Vegeta responded, totally nonchalant and eyes avoiding the waitress as she approached. Whether he was being sexually forward or genuinely threatening, Bulma couldn't tell, and that frightened her.

The engineer's cheeks burned red as she ordered the salmon with baby potatoes for herself and a 10 ounce steak, cooked blue rare, with a side of mushrooms and grilled asparagus for Vegeta. She requested a light white wine for herself, and a full-bodied glass of red wine for her dining partner. When the waitress had confirmed the order and left, Vegeta raised his brows and gave a small nod. "Sounds promising. I may spare you after all."

Over their meal (after a few bites, Vegeta declared the meal satisfactory) the two of them wound up sharing some stories from their younger years. Although Vegeta was actually speaking about his past, Bulma knew he was only providing her with the bare-bones details, keeping emotion out of his voice, which occasionally cracked.

Somehow, they got onto the topic of skipping class. Vegeta was quite amused when Bulma admitted that she had frequently skipped class in high school. "The courses just weren't very stimulating. I mean, it sounds totally arrogant, but I was way ahead of my peers, even back then. Some of the teachers were total snores, too! You can't seriously expect me to listen to some old geezer recite what's in the same lesson plans he's used for the last decade! I basically taught myself a lot of stuff and graduated early."

"Not surprising. You're obviously more intelligent than most humans. It's probably one the reasons I can actually stand having a conversation with you," Vegeta finished the last of his steak (it was very good, but there wasn't enough for his massive appetite) and pushed his plate aside. He enjoyed the wine Bulma had ordered for him enough to request a second glass.

"Coming from you... that's quite a compliment. Thank you, Vegeta. Say, you wanna get some dessert?"

"Of course I want dessert. You people do sweets quite well, I'll give you that much."

Bulma ordered creme brulee and coffee for the both of them. She looked him over, admiring his physique. "So, what about you? Ever duck outta class early or something?"

"Never did much in the way of schooling," Vegeta smirked and tapped his spoon against the hard layer of burnt sugar, "and you'd be pretty foolish to disobey orders from the higher ups. Classes were mandatory, not that ever I took that many. Mostly lectures on diplomacy, a few tutorials on pod repair and stuff like that. A lot of stuff is like you described it, self-taught. I just watch and figure things out myself. I'd rather teach myself than listen to some dumb fuck drone on."

"Well, you're obviously a smart guy."

"Heh," the Saiyan forced himself to finish another spoonful of this wonderful dessert, somewhat unhappy it would soon be all gone, "coming from you, that's a compliment."

"You wanna get outta here after our dessert and head home? We can do some more shopping on another day. You picked out some nice stuff today. I really do like that jacket, by the way! What drew you to a motorcycle jacket?"

"It fit my shoulders," Vegeta shrugged and finished his dessert, "and yeah, I'm done with going to different shops. I want out of this place as soon as possible."

When they exited the shopping centre, Vegeta followed Bulma to the car and allowed her to deposit all the bags into the trunk before scooping her into his arms and jumping up high, flying away from the huge mall at a speed so tremendous that Bulma was terrified for her life and she screamed. Suddenly eight miles away from the mall, Vegeta came to a stop but remained hanging in the air, fifteen hundred feet above the ground, and re-adjusted his helpless partner so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders while he supported her hips with one arm.

"Oh my God, Vegeta! What are you doing? I'm so scared, I'm so scared!"

"I'm not gonna drop you," Vegeta nuzzled her neck and gently demonstrated his firm hold on her, "you're safe with me."

"Why did you do that? What if somebody saw that?" Bulma tightened her grip on his shoulders, but Vegeta didn't react to this.

"Shh, I wanted to show you this," he resumed flight at a low speed, "what it's like to be up in the air and outside of an airship."

At the cruising speed, Bulma could take in the scene: the city and surrounding countryside slowly coming back to life again, the cloudy sky streaked with coral and orange bands of light, puffs of low-lying clouds close enough to touch, and even the curvature of the Earth. They flew together, silent, for ten minutes before Bulma found she was able to use her voice once more.

"This is amazing," she marvelled, "I've never experienced anything like this! Ooh, but it's chilly..."

Vegeta's hold on Bulma tightened and he let them plummet down towards the Earth for five whole seconds before swooping up past the clouds again, this time hearing her laughing and whooping with amazement. They were back at the shopping centre's parking lot before long, and after a careful and very slow descent (this was when Bulma's panic returned) they made it to the car.

Bulma took the car through a fast food restaurants pick-up lane for two cups of hot chocolate, her cheeks bright red from the cold air and Vegeta's hair wildly dishevelled from the flight. They rode home together in contented silence; Bulma happy that Vegeta had taken her on such an amazing (and impromptu) adventure, and Vegeta happy that he'd been able to release the tension that built up during the shopping excursion.

They didn't say much upon arriving at the compound. Vegeta took his bags right up to his bedroom without a word. Bulma wasn't really bothered by this, it was in his nature to set out and complete a task right away, and he was very specific about how he kept things organized within his personal space. The fact that he'd done something so lovely earlier in the day made her feel so happy.

Bulma was beginning to experience real feelings for the Saiyan. She genuinely enjoyed his company, yearned for his touch, and wanted to hear his voice at certain points in the day. He made her laugh so often, through his astute observations and razor-sharp wit, and when they did engage in conversation, what he said was often so thought-provoking that it left her feeling intellectually satisfied in a way she hadn't been before.

That said, Bulma was certain that Vegeta would not respond positively to any proclamations of deep caring, or even feelings that bordered on _love_ , so she knew to keep it to herself.

At least for the time being.

* * *

_Vegeta found himself descending a dark, wide staircase, its supporting walls out of reach and wholly intangible. He was then down in a basement, with dim lighting, exposed pipes, and water-damaged walls painted a garish shade of orange. Wherever he was, he didn't want to be there, but the Saiyan had no choice but to press onward down the corridor._

_He encountered another staircase and went into a sub-basement, even darker, damp, walls still that terrible shade of orange and terribly grubby. The staircase vanished, and the only place to go was through a thick, black door._

_Without even pushing it open, he was inside a massive room, filled with the very worst of the men he'd worked with over the years. Some of them gave him a passing glance, while others made a point of avoiding his eyes._

_The room sunk deeper still, growing darker and more claustrophobic, so far removed from the surface of the world, fresh air, and bright sky. Trapped in this filthy pit, Vegeta watched on as everybody socialized, partied, laughed, ignored him, and started to decay and turn into skeletons, scraps of putrid flesh hanging off their bones. Maggots and flies crawled all over his old comrades, filling this space he was trapped in with yet another undesirable element._

_Horrified, Vegeta started to scream, and it was only then that the other occupants of this hellish basement acknowledged his presence by laughing at his terror._

Bolting upright and gasping for air, Vegeta caught a split second of his own screams as he came to and realized his was safe in the space of his dark, warm bedroom. The gentle whoosh of the electric fan oscillating back and forth gave him a new sound to focus on as he tried to will his pounding heart into slowing down.

After several minutes, heart still beating high up in his chest, Vegeta went to his en-suite washroom and washed his face in the sink. Still uneasy and desperate to get his mind off his terrible nightmare, the Saiyan dressed in his new denim jeans, long-sleeve shirt, leather jacket, and the just broken-in leather boots he rarely wore.

He left the compound. If a walk didn't help him clear his mind, nothing would.


	45. What's Missing

Hands jammed into the pockets of his new leather jacket, Vegeta walked down the street at a swift pace and kept his head down, choosing to ignore any signs of life still visible within 24 hour diners and convenience stores he passed as he made his way into the city's core.

Underneath the orange glow of faintly buzzing sodium bulb streetlamps, the Saiyan felt oddly comfortable with the quiet city streets. He picked up the faint scent of restaurant exhaust fans pushing out vapour from fryers and grills, overheard a group of drunk women giggling and talking nonsense as they staggered towards a bus stop, and his eyes became fixed on a mountain range in the distance.

It took him two hours to reach the outskirts of the city, passing by a truck stop and totally ignoring a man's voice that called out to him from the parking lot. He pressed onward, the four lane highway eventually merging into a narrow two lane road.

He passed by tiny houses surrounded by bare fields. These are some Earthling farms, he recognized, I wonder how this place will look at harvest...

Sick of walking, Vegeta jumped up into the air and took off for the mountains. He kept flying until he reached a plateau high enough for him to look out across the entire landscape. Sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs, Vegeta watched as the sky began to lighten, bands of deep green becoming brighter and turning purple and deep coral. Beams of soft light spread across the sky, highlighting wispy clouds as they stretched wider and wider.

Although feeling the cold by this time, even as he focused on raising his ki to offset the air temperature, Vegeta continued watching the sunrise. If Earth really had anything going for it, then it was its beautiful scenery and its nature. The landscape really was gorgeous, and there was something very grounding about spending time alone in the wilderness.

When his stomach finally growled loudly enough to force Vegeta to fully acknowledge his hunger, the Saiyan stood up, took one final look at the sunrise, and jumped off the plateau, effortlessly gliding down until he landed in the middle of a small cul-de-sac of modest houses. He spotted bottles of fresh milk sitting on doorsteps and silently approached a house, took the milk, jumped up to the roof, and enjoyed his cool drink. After finishing the full pint of milk, he put it back on the doorstep, and decided one more bottle of milk would be good.

At one point, he spotted a woman emerge from a house across the road and watched her pick up the bottle of milk on her doorstep, totally oblivious to the man watching her from a rooftop. She went back inside. The sun was rising up into the sky now, and soon the early morning sunbeams were warming the Saiyan's face.

A few minutes later, Vegeta finished his second pint of milk and decided to toss this empty bottle behind his back, not caring where it landed. When he heard it roll down an adjacent roof and smash onto a walkway, he took off, deciding it was time to head home. He'd been up for several hours by that point, and figured his mind had settled enough for him to go back to sleep.

The nightmares would probably never stop, and Vegeta begrudgingly accepted this. He usually forced himself to stay awake until exhaustion forced him to fall asleep once more, and in his early twenties had experimented with medications that induced sleep, only to realize it had a negative effect on his performance- which left him even more prone to receiving more of the treatment that left him with nightmares in the first place.

_There's no easy way out in any aspect of my life, is there? Stuck on Earth, stuck at some level below Super Saiyan... although I don't know how far below... stuck with the eternal decision to sleep for as long as my body craves or to stay awake for as long as possible like my mind demands. What is missing to make me complete? What have I failed to achieve, acquire, or realize?_

He flew slightly higher as he approached the city, painfully aware that flying people attracted a great deal of attention on Earth.

_...and why the hell has Kakarot managed to surpass me so easily? What exactly has he caught onto? What's his secret? But I'll be damned if I actually talk to him... I can't fucking stand him. That traitorous piece of shit._

Twenty five minutes later, he landed on the back patio and went inside. Mrs. Briefs was already up, as he expected, but he didn't expect her to look at him with suspicion as he moved through the kitchen and stopped long enough to retrieve a bottle of water.

"Long night out, Vegeta?"

He scoffed and went upstairs to his bedroom. Bulma was probably getting ready for work, and Yamcha had already left the compound for a full day of training. Vegeta pulled off his clothing and crawled underneath the covers. He was asleep before long, and didn't wake up again until mid-afternoon.

* * *

For several days, as the weather continued to warm and the days grew longer, Vegeta brooded and avoided conversation. He was focused on figuring out the missing component in the Super Saiyan transformation, but always drew a blank.

One night, Vegeta opted to soak in Bulma's tub after they'd had sex in her bedroom. Her bathtub was the same as his, but she had cellophane bags of lightly-scented salts that actually pleased the Saiyan's sensitive nose, so he took advantage of the fact that she'd dozed off and ran a hot bath.

He lay back in the steaming water, knees bent to accommodate his torso, and engaged in another internal dialogue, hopeful he'd stumble across what he needed to do or acquire in order to reach the level his rival already had.

Eventually, Bulma woke up and realized Vegeta was still in her en-suite when she saw his clothing still folded and placed on the chair at her cluttered desk. She pulled on a t-shirt and went inside, finding the Saiyan laying back in the tub, his unruly hair floating in the water and his feet hanging over the edge of the tub. He stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought, and only paid Bulma a passing glance.

"What's up, sexy? C'mon, talk to me," Bulma sat on the edge of the tub and dangled her fingertips just above the surface of the water.

He pushed himself up into a seated position, thick hair heavy with water and hanging long down his back, and shut his eyes. "I need more power in that simulator. It's still not enough..."

"Vegeta, this simulator business is getting ridiculous. That thing can already produce a gravitational pull three hundred times what the Earth naturally produces. How the hell you're ever tolerating that environment, I can't even begin to comprehend, but I'm getting really worried. You hurt yourself all the time as it is!"

"So? Your athletes sustain injuries all the time! Do you know I just learned about this sport you people play by mounting blades onto large boots and skating across ice while carrying huge sticks and trying to take control of a heavy little puck? Some poor bastard had his throat slit when one of his opponents fell over and took him down in the process."

" I know what ice hockey is," she rolled her eyes, "and I knew about that incident. He was immediately taken to the hospital and survived. You, on the other hand, might accidentally seriously, perhaps morally injure yourself in there, and there will be no way for us to access you until I shut off the simulator from the central computer _in my lab_. And what if nobody's at home? What if I'm asleep? What then? I can't and won't remotely monitor you while you're in that thing, Vegeta. You're pushing it."

"Pushing what, exactly?"

"Your luck..."

"Oh, come on," his voice had an edge of annoyance but he smirked at Bulma, "I need you to do this for me... if I get hurt or die, then it's my own damn fault..." he took the woman's right foot and started to massage the sole, gently pressing into the arch with his thumbs.

Damn him and his touch, she thought, he's gonna try anything to manipulate me into building him something new...

She sighed and pulled her foot away from Vegeta's hands. "I'll have to see what my schedule permits me to do. I'm already under some deadlines as it is, and there's no way I can put my work in progress aside. So for now, my answer is a soft no."

The Saiyan leaned back into the water and huffed. "Fine. I'm going to be on your ass about this, so don't think you're off the hook."

"That's fine, seeing as you're admittedly fond of my ass. Enjoy your soak, Vegeta. I'm going to sleep now."

The Saiyan sunk back into the water and grumbled.

* * *

Three days later, when all of Bulma's attention was devoted to her upcoming project proposals at Capsule Corp and she suddenly became a rare sight around the compound, Vegeta decided he'd waited long enough for a definite answer from the woman and would simply demand her father to build him a new, more powerful simulator. If he couldn't charm the old man into doing his bidding, he'd simply intimidate him into doing what he wanted.

When Vegeta approached the man in the conservatory as he pruned an experimental fruit tree they were growing, Dr. Briefs seemed to already know what the Saiyan would ask of him and immediately denied the request.

"Why? You aren't as busy as your daughter. _Build it_."

"Son, you won't be able to physically handle it. I just can't do it."

"That's bullshit and you know it! And I know you're capable of creating a more powerful gravity simulator! You can have it up and running in two weeks!"

"Vegeta, no," the elder scientist pulled a fresh, sweet drupe from a branch of the tree and inspected it, "it's simply not possible. You're already flirting with serious injury or death as it is, going full tilt at three hundred times Earth's gravity. I don't even know how your body is managing to keep up, to be honest!"

"But it's not enough! I need more! More!" Vegeta's teeth were bared and his voice was rising, growing crackly and sharp, "and I need it now!"

Dr. Briefs sighed and told himself to stay calm. Vegeta's hot temper could sometimes be cooled off, if one remained cool-headed and didn't react to the Saiyan's needling. "Would you like to try this fruit? It's delicious."

He handed the Saiyan the drupe, who immediately threw it clear across the glass-walled conservatory and shrieked, his anger flaring: "fuck your fruit! Build me that fucking simulator! Starting today!"

"I'm not going to argue with you," Dr. Briefs's voice shook, and it was all that Vegeta needed to begin getting angrier and violent.

"Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck this place!" The Saiyan grabbed a heavy iron patio table by one end and threw it into the air. It crashed, in a heap of metal and shattered glass, into an indoor pond. He stormed out of the conservatory, ripping the door off its hinges and tossing it aside, and began kicking and punching the walls as he moved through the hallway, breaking clean through the drywall in the process.

Two minutes and twenty six seconds later, with six serrated steak knives plunged into the wooden kitchen table, three doors ripped off their hinges, the sliding glass door leading out to the patio totally missing, and another table thrown off the patio (crashing through a greenhouse filled with tomato plants), Dr. Briefs finally conceded, screaming as loudly as his voice would permit: "fine! I'll build the goddamn thing! Just stop doing this!"

Panting, Vegeta set down a chaise-lounge he was preparing to throw onto a nearby street, and sneered at the old man. "Was that so fucking hard?"

Now that he had the old man ready to begin working for him, Vegeta felt it was time to take off and cool down. Surely there were bigger, better things for him to destroy outside the city. He took off into the air and vanished from sight in an instant.


	46. Shame

Avalanches were reported in the mountains twenty kilometres outside West City. An unusual landslide shut down highway 15, one of the main roads connecting West City to outlying towns and many farms. People as far as thirty kilometres away from the mountain ranges reported unusual bursts of violet and electric blue light flashing in the darkening skies before hearing massive bangs.

Some people wondered if they were witnessing a rare atmospheric event, while others were convinced the apocalypse had started. All the activity was so worrying that news broadcasters advised residents of West City to prepare an emergency kit in case of evacuation.

"That idiot," Bulma snarled as she watched an emergency television broadcast about the landslides, "what's gotten into him?"

She'd come home from a full day's work, exhausted and feet aching, to find a significant portion of the compound's main house trashed from Vegeta's rampage, her mother weeping, and her father still trembling with fear. The missing sliding glass patio door was never found (likely vaporized) and had been temporarily replaced with a thick sheet of opaque plastic. The kitchen table and the steak knives had already been replaced, both damaged beyond repair. A contractor had been called in to come fix the drywall and re-paint the hallway. The patio table in the conservatory pond (which was a mess of broken glass, crushed plants, and several dead fish) was carefully removed and taken to a shop on the compound to be cut apart and re-used, while the table that had crashed through the green house was left until every shard of glass could be safely removed.

When Bulma learned that the cause of Vegeta's rage had been her father's (rightful) refusal to construct a more powerful simulator, she went upstairs and went into Vegeta's room, set on removing every nice thing he had. If that was how he was going to behave, he could learn to live on Earth with only the bare minimum.

As she began to pull the sheets off the mattress, Yamcha entered the room and managed to quickly place himself between the incensed engineer and the bed. "Hang on, Bulma," he raised his hands, part attempt to calm the woman and part attempt to prove he was well-intentioned, "don't do this."

"Why the fuck not, Yamcha? And why are _you_ defending him?" She laughed, unconsciously mimicking the Saiyan's mocking chuckle, "you of all people should be glad I'm doing this!"

"Hear me ou-" he watched as she turned her back and began pulling clothing out of his drawers, "why _are_ you doing this?"

"I'm not going to let him get away with his freak-outs! He can learn to behave like a civilized human being! He wants clothes? He can come and ask for an outfit! And he can sleep on a bare mattress in here! And I'm shutting down his simulator! _Aaargh_!" A pile of socks came flying across the room, hitting Yamcha in the chest and a few landing on the haphazard mattress.

"He isn't a civilized human being! That's the fucking point! Bulma, think about it! He's never had access to this kind of life before! Do you even know anything about his past? 'Cause even I know it wasn't so good!"

Bulma stopped, one of the Saiyan's new sweaters in her hands, and she felt her mouth suddenly dry up.

"What do you mean, Yamcha? Even you know? C'mon. Don't give me that," she rolled her eyes, "he's done _juuuuust_ fine for himself in the long run. He can just learn to use his coping skills like a grown man."

"Former child soldiers aren't known for having great coping skills, Bulma. Just... stop this, please. Taking away everything he has in this room won't help. I, um, Krillin and I hung out a while back, and he told me some stuff he heard..." Yamcha's voice dropped to a whisper, "...sad."

Without replying, Bulma picked up the socks, placed them back in their proper spot, and closed the drawers. She still removed the sheets from the bed, murmuring something about how they needed to be washed anyway.

They went for a walk together after dinner, chatting about anything lighthearted and topical for a long while as they struggled to arrive at a sense of reasonable calm. While seated on a bench overlooking a creek, Yamcha quietly told Bulma the things he'd heard from Krillin.

"Krillin told me, um, when things got really bad on Namek and apparently... he died, Bulma. Vegeta was killed on Namek, along with Krillin. And he died real slowly. But not before saying some stuff that Krillin says made his blood run cold, y'know?"

She hadn't known about Vegeta's death on Namek. He'd arrived on Earth looking worse for wear, but not near death. But it explained the dirt in his clothing and hair.

"...do I want to know?"

What Yamcha said next left Bulma stunned: "if you're spending so much time with him, and getting so close, then yes. You obviously like him for some reason and I think he likes you, even if he's acting like a crazy person half the time. Even if I don't like it. Even if you hurt me," his voice cracked and tears welled in his eyes, "have some... I can't believe I'm saying this, compassion."

"Is that it?"

Yamcha shook his head and struggled to find the right words. "Um, he was taken away from his dad at a really young age and forced into heavy combat. Kept obedient with some... really fucked up coercion. Krillin didn't get into it. I think his parents were murdered, but he didn't find until years after. So he thought they were alive when they weren't. I don't think he has _any_ family or friends. So he's nowhere near normal, but I can see why now. He doesn't know anything else."

Neither of them said anything for a long time. Bulma shed several tears, while Yamcha stared off into the distance. The deeply unpleasant truth of Vegeta's background was becoming an open secret, and both of them felt nothing but pity for the Saiyan, followed by a lot of shame for her plan to strip him of every material comfort made available to him. In a strange way, his constant rage suddenly made a lot more sense, even if it was a terrifying thing to experience.

"Yamcha?" Bulma sniffed and reached into her jeans pocket for her cigarette case, suddenly craving a smoke to help process this new and very uncomfortable truth.

"Yeah?"

"You're a really special guy, and I'm glad you're still in my life."

* * *

Vegeta didn't return until three days later. He came home when Bulma was at work and Dr. Briefs was in his lab, working on a new simulator, just after eleven in the morning. The new sliding glass door at the side of the house had been opened, so Vegeta walked right into the house and went straight to the kitchen. He noticed the new table and set of knives and shrugged. Everything was _fine_.

He found a box of pizza from a local restaurant that delivered and decided it would be a good snack. There were eight slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza remaining, so he took four, piled them onto a plate, and began to eat while leaning against the counter.

The small radio perched atop the refrigerator had been switched on, and two smooth-voiced reporters discussed the re-opening of highway 15 and the possibility of another landslide affecting the area in the future.

Halfway through his third slice of pizza, Mrs. Briefs came back inside through the sliding door and spotted Vegeta in the kitchen. He was disheveled, his hair an oily mess and his clothing torn up. He had many deep cuts across his arms, which had scabbed over but obviously required attention.

"Welcome back, Vegeta. I'm glad you came back. Do you need a First Aid? Those cuts don't look good."

He looked her over, finished his third slice in another two bites, internally coming to the conclusion that she was a very pretty woman, and shrugged. "I will shower first."

"That's fine with me, sweetheart."

"Get more pizza," he took the final slice upstairs with him.

As he sat at the kitchen table with his elbows resting atop a clean towel (he secretly loved the smell of bleached towels and linens) and Mrs. Briefs very gently applying an antibiotic cream to his cuts and scrapes, he found himself listening to the woman calmly explaining why she was upset that he'd destroyed her greenhouse. She never raised her voice, directly accused him of causing deliberate harm, or insulted him.

And it made him feel _so weird_.

She'd ordered a pizza, so Vegeta listened to her. He didn't have anything to say and avoided her eyes. As she told him that many of her tomato plants were ruined and that the shattered glass posed a safety threat, a very tiny part of Vegeta's conscience reacted to this new knowledge with something that bordered on shame. Vegeta liked tomatoes- they were delicious, and the woman offered him sliced tomatoes with cheese all the time during the hot months. He may have been furious, but he really hadn't intended to purposefully destroy something that produced food in the process. Killing a living, sentient creature didn't bother Vegeta, but destroying food sources didn't really sit well with him. He came very close to actually apologizing, but his pride held him back.

Still, after she was finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds, Vegeta found himself so impressed with the woman's work that he did thank her.

Settling into his bed for a nap, Vegeta wondered how and when the woman would react to his return to the compound.


	47. A Near Miss

It took a fair amount of convincing and a promise that there wouldn't be some kind of moral lecture on Bulma's part, but Vegeta agreed to go for a walk with the woman after dinner. They took a break (at Bulma's insistence) in a small park that featured a botanical garden.

"So what's this all about?" Vegeta asked, his voice gruff, more interested in the ice cream sandwich he'd purchased from a vendor with a bicycle cart. Bulma hadn't the slightest idea where the Saiyan had picked up a small billfold, or why he apparently carried no less than two thousand zeni on his person, almost all of it in the form of small bills, but she was quite amused by the sight of the alien making such a mundane transaction.

"I just wanna talk to you, that's all..." she peeled the wrapper back on her huge ice cream cone and took a small bite.

The Saiyan was far more interested in his cool snack. He had two large bites of his treat before finally muttering in reply: "about? I'm not stupid. Something is up."

"Are you ever not paranoid? Like just for a few minutes, can you stop thinking everybody's out to fuck you over?" Bulma's voice grew harsh, and as she heard herself speak she immediately regretted her words, remembering all of one second later that his hyper-vigilance did not exist in a vacuum.

He scoffed and continued to eat his ice cream sandwich, gaze fixed on the field of flowers at the bottom of a rolling hill.

"I'm sorry," her voice was soft and higher-pitched, "of course you're suspicious..."

Vegeta's reply came in the form of his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, just once, very hard. No fucking shit, he silently told her, I have every right to be suspicious. It's not my fault you don't get it.

"My Dad's working on the simulator. It'll have a lot of safeguards in case you get injured or something malfunctions."

"Alright. I expect it to be complete within one month."

"We're trying the very best we can, Vegeta. I'm going to review your battle drones, okay? You sure took to working with the latest models, huh? Those things were designed to take a lot of abuse."

"Don't bother. I've vaporized four of them, one is crushed, and the other one barely works. They're almost entirely useless in the current simulator, so they'll be worth dick in a more powerful simulator."

The engineer laughed at her partner's foul language and took another bite of her ice cream. She did want to talk to Vegeta about his moods, but she knew he didn't want a "lecture" and she also didn't wish to upset him. His limits were very fuzzy, and people were prone to crossing lines they weren't aware even existed until the Saiyan's temper flared. Everybody at the Capsule compound, from Briefs family members to allies and even the few guests (usually employees of Capsule Corp.) who encountered the Saiyan had been sworn at for seemingly mundane questions. One perfectly friendly Capsule Corp employee who had come by the house to check out a motorcycle Bulma wanted to get rid of was subject to a barrage of verbal abuse after asking the Saiyan if he also rode motorcycles.

Finally, she figured out a way to ask Vegeta about his mental health. If Vegeta fell asleep in her bedroom (which happened at least once per week) and she didn't wake him up, there was a fair chance he'd suddenly snap back to full consciousness, breathing hard and eyes wide as he checked his surroundings. Sometimes he screamed or cried out in his native language. He often touched his own chest and arms too, as though he were checking to see if he still had a body. He always wound up back in his own bedroom, insisting he be left alone.

"Do you have bad dreams sometimes, Vegeta?"

"No," the Saiyan finished his treat and threw the wrapper away, mindlessly vaporizing it, "do you?"

"Not as often as you. They seem to really bother you."

His facial expression hardened and he went quiet for a few minutes. "It's none of your fucking business."

"Alright, then. But if you ever wanna talk, I'm here."

"Mm," he rolled his eyes, "it's nothing you'd understand. Nobody does."

"Oh, try me. Sometimes I have nightmares about a product launch going wrong in every way possible. Or I find myself giving a massive presentation and suddenly realize I'm standing in front of a bunch of important people in my underwear..."

"That sounds like a good dream. For me, that is."

She dismissed his last remark with uneasy laughter and took another bite of her cone. "So where'dya get the wallet? And the money, for that matter..."

"Your mother decided I needed "spending money" and left this damn thing in my bedroom one day. She's _odd_."

Bulma laughed. "She likes you."

"Of all the strange names I've been called in my life, I think being called "honey" is the strangest. Your mother insists on naming me after the stuff I put in my tea. Is that... normal? It can't be."

She laughed again, much harder this time, and passed her half-eaten cone over to Vegeta. "Here, have it. I can't eat all this. I think it's kinda cute that my Mom is so fond of you, for the most part. Oh, and I will be working on those drones. Your remarks, however rude, just spurred me on to create better models that can take even more hits."

"Mm," Vegeta sucked on a piece of frozen caramel, "very well, then. How many of these ice cream cones can I purchase with this?" He reached into his billfold and pulled out a twenty zeni bill.

"That's twenty zeni. You can buy five. Sometime I'll teach you how our money works."

"Alright. So that means these ice cream cones are four, ah, _zeni_ each. We should leave after the man with the cart passes by again. I want another one of these things," he took a bite of the sugary cone, "maybe even five."

* * *

Yamcha collapsed in the shower, clinging to the textured steel assistance rail and groaning from the incredible ache that enveloped his entire body. He was still in a state of disbelief over the fact that he'd survived his ill-fated time in the simulator, certain he would have been found crushed to death the next morning by the Saiyan, who would likely be extremely pissed off to discover a corpse in his simulator (one he wasn't responsible for, anyway) but otherwise unmoved by the tragedy.

He'd moved back into the main house on the compound after things had cooled off and Vegeta had actually been marginally civil to him, and was grateful for both the privacy and the knowledge that help was close if he needed help.

Both horrified and impressed by the Saiyan's dedication to his training (perhaps the only consistent thing about him) the young warrior had taken to occasionally observing Vegeta through the port-hole windows in the simulator. On one such occasion, Vegeta had noticed the human and his unusual feline companion watching him, and he was both furious and very disturbed by the realization he was being spied on.

(Not to mention, the floating cat named Puar and his high pitched voice left Vegeta feeling a little creeped out. The strange creature never said a nasty thing to the Saiyan, but they also made a point of avoiding each other and had never conversed beyond "hello".)

The pressure in the simulator had been so intense, he'd pissed his pants while trying to remain standing. He still couldn't piece together how he'd managed to turn off the simulator, but he was grateful he'd managed to save himself... and he was also just a little impressed with himself. He'd still proven himself much stronger than the average human during his terrifying minute in the simulator, and that was nothing to look down on. He'd nearly fallen down the steps as he staggered back outside, leaning far over the railing to vomit up his dinner.

Not that he could imagine eating anything now. Adrenaline continued to course through his body, leaving him trembling and nauseous.

Exhausted, he managed to rinse himself off in the warm spray of water, slowly shut the taps off, and staggered out of the shower. Dripping wet, he forced himself to drag a clean towel across his chest and back before managing to stumble over to his bed. He was unconscious the moment his head hit the pillow.

At five forty in the morning, Vegeta had already been up for a good twenty minutes and was preparing to head into the simulator to warm up his body and run through his stretch routine. After a few pieces of fruit and a small bottle of kefir, he pulled on his shoes and went to out to the simulator.

The first thing Vegeta noticed as he ascended the staircase was a small amount of vomit on the ground just below the steps. When he recognized pieces of partially digested vegetables, Vegeta realized the vomit was recent, and whoever had been sick had eaten the same thing at dinner the night prior- roast chicken and vegetables with a huge salad on the side.

Maybe somebody drank too much and couldn't make it back inside to hurl in the sink, Vegeta thought, it's probably nothing. Could have been an animal.

When he opened the door, a strange smell hit him, and it didn't take long for Vegeta's fury to flare up. He inhaled through his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth, trying to identify the smell. Perhaps the woman had been inside the make a quick repair in the middle of the night?

But no, this smell was nothing like the woman's. Too much testosterone; it was the smell of a man. He could smell somebody's sweat and their urine. He could smell fear lingering in the air. Whoever had been inside had obviously been terrified.

It wasn't the old man's scent either, Vegeta determined, he couldn't pick up notes of the cologne Dr. Briefs wore or the faint scent of tobacco.

He approached the console and spotted a now dry puddle on the floor. Urine. Somebody had been touching the controls- the scent of fear, musty and sour, was very strong on the buttons and console.

"What the fuck is that smell?"

He turned on his heel and went back outside. The door slammed behind him and the Saiyan stormed down the metal staircase, cursing as he made his way into the house: "what the fuck is that smell? The fuck is that? What the _FUCK IS THAT SMELL_?"

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Do you need me to get Bulma? Something wrong inside your simulator?" Mrs. Briefs didn't look up from her mixing bowl, sensing her guest was in a very bad mood. Sometimes extended eye contact was all it took to escalate his anger to the point where it became unmanageable.

The Saiyan responded to Mrs. Briefs concern by snarling and running up the staircase, the strange scent becoming stronger as he approached Yamcha's closed bedroom door.

Busted.

"YOU!" Vegeta threw the door open and Yamcha awoke with a terrified cry, body aching all over and his mind now racing, trying to figure out what to do next. He caught a glimpse of Puar hiding behind a wardrobe, obviously too frightened to do anything else. He'd be dead before breakfast if he didn't play his cards right. Before he could react, Vegeta was looming over him, his full lips drawn back thin over his bared teeth, revealing healthy gums and a collection of bright, straight teeth; his canines were much longer than a human's and looked sharp enough to easily pierce through flesh and sink into muscle. His molars looked like they could crack through healthy, live bone without any effort.

Yamcha couldn't speak, too frightened to move and unsure of what to do next. Caught by the Saiyan, who didn't look as though he could be reasoned with at the moment. What had given him away?

"Stay the fuck out of my simulator, you piece of shit! What the fuck were you doing in there, huh?"

"I wasn't in there!" Yamcha managed to yelp, pulling the covers over his bare torso. Vegeta continued looming over him, one knee sinking into the mattress.

"Yes you were! I can smell you inside there! It fucking stinks in there! It fucking stinks in here too! You pissed on the floor and your puke is on the grass underneath the simulator! Who the fuck else would have gone in there, huh? Because nobody else in this goddamn house stinks like you do!"

Vegeta tore away the covers Yamcha used to protect his body (however futile this action was) and let out a roar while Yamcha tried in vain not to cry for help and struggled to find something else to cover his naked body. The Saiyan was so angry that he screamed in his native tongue, on the verge of losing all sense of reason.

"Dude! Okay, okay! I went inside! I'm sorry! It won't happen again!"

Instead of calming down like Yamcha hoped he would, the Saiyan responded to this admission by smashing the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, tearing open his hand and sending a spray of blood across the room as he turned around to face the human again. Small spatters of blood hit the walls, floor, and the cluttered desk.

"Stay out of there! Never go in my simulator! It's mine, don't you fucking get that?! Mine! What, are you going to fuck around in my bedroom too? Don't you assholes have any respect for privacy?"

Bulma came to the door, arms folded across her chest. "Vegeta. Knock it off right now," her voice was firm and calm, "I promise this won't happen again, alright? Yamcha learned his lesson."

"Y-yeah..." Yamcha stammered, managing to slide off the bed and immediately pulling on the first reasonably clean item of clothing he spotted, "n-n-not gonna..."

Vegeta clicked his tongue and turned around to glare at the woman. "He's going back inside. Don't intervene."

"What?!" Yamcha's voice rose an octave, throat constricted with fear. Vegeta was going to murder him inside the simulator. The Saiyan would probably force him back inside and slowly turn up the gravity, crushing and suffocating him. A brutal, painful death.

"Oh yes," Vegeta looked back at Yamcha, who had pulled on a pair of sweatpants, "you're going back inside. Since you're responsible for the stink in there, you can wash the floor until I can't smell you any more. You have one hour. Get going."

Finished with the human, Vegeta left Yamcha's bedroom, cradling his bleeding hand, and returned to his own bedroom to treat his wounds. Bulma heaved a sigh, looked at the drying blood on the walls and floor, and shook her head.

"After you're finished cleaning out the simulator, you can clean up your room, Yamcha. I'm sorry you witnessed that, but if you were fooling around in that simulator you have only yourself to blame. Don't tread on his territory. There's some pine scented cleaner and a mop and bucket in the utility room. If I were you, I'd get going right away."

Yamcha pulled on a tank top and felt his heart rate slowing to a normal rate. "Yeah," he murmured, voice still shaking, "that's probably a good idea."


	48. A Definite Hit

Watching the ceiling tiles and panelled lights whiz by overhead as a group of nurses followed by two surgeons pushed the wide gurney he'd been transferred to down a wide, sterile hallway and into a very cold room.

He could feel himself laying in his own blood. It was getting colder. His body was starting to cool down, he was sure of it.

In the simplest terms, the simulator had exploded. He'd been going full tilt at five hundred times Earth's normal gravity, each movement excruciating, the air so thick he swore it left him lightheaded within five minutes. Full of anger and directing all his rage towards the new battle drones, Vegeta finally discovered the limits of the simulator and made the choice to push beyond them.

He'd been working in the new simulator for all of three weeks. The minute it had been completed and wheeled out to the furthest end of the huge yard within the compound, Vegeta had done nothing but train obsessively. Nothing else, other than food and sleep, mattered to him. He cut off contact with everybody, only speaking to Bulma when a holographic screen would switch itself on and force him to converse. There was no way to shut off the communicator, which only made the Saiyan angrier, which in turn made Bulma angrier with him.

Once or twice, he could feel himself approaching a new high as he trained. Flashes of electricity would crackle all around him before vanishing the instant he noticed what was going on.

The morning had started simply enough: a huge breakfast at four thirty in the morning (left for him in the refrigerator) and on to training by five fifteen. He hadn't spoken to anybody, but his mood was suffering. Why couldn't he reach that next level? What was holding him back, and how could he possibly overcome it?

By eight fifteen, on the verge of exhaustion and seemingly stuck on the floor, he realized far too late that the punishing task he'd assigned himself may not only be impossible to complete, but kill him as well: he'd set the drones to continue attacking unless he could manually disable all of them within one minute, and if he failed to disable all of them, they would restart.

I'm going to fucking die in here, he realized as the drones hovered eight feet above his body and locked onto their target, laser guns rapidly charging up to full strength, it's now or never!

In a last ditch effort, Vegeta summoned up his remaining energy, visualizing it coming from every fibre of his body, managed to get to his feet and protectively crossed his arms across his chest before forcing all the energy outward. A saw a flash of gold, the ripple of a shockwave travelling through the heavy air, followed by a blast of intense heat and darkness. There was nothing for a while.

Bright blue sky. Strange vehicles, some bright red, and one that was boxy and white. People dressed in dark blue uniforms looming over him. Being stuck with needles and cut out of his clothing. He was naked and somebody was scrubbing him down and leaving his skin bright orange. The sound of a woman crying. That's Bulma, he heard his own voice outside himself. A blanket covering him, soaking through with blood. Screaming sirens. He tried to move his arms and reach out, but found himself immobile.

Blinding bright lights overhead. I'm dying, he thought, his voice somewhere outside himself, maybe this time I get to go towards a light... but it's so cold...

"Get that IV into his hand now! Tape down the other two! Don't get fucking sloppy!"

"We've got a weak pulse! BP is 81 systolic 56 diastolic and falling fast. Throat is clear. No major trauma to neck visible. Prepare patient for endotracheal intubation."

Cold, gloved hands straightened his head and tilted his chin up and his mouth was forced open. He felt something dry on the tip of his tongue and it was being pulled on.

"Get that tourniquet tight on the left arm..."

"Jesus Christ, the bleeding... how deep are these lacerations?"

"Shut up and start packing what you can see with gauze! Here!"

"BP is 58 over 39! Hurry up, we're losing him!"

"We've got more blood products on the way and two units of O negative for now. We're all ready for transfusion."

"Good. Let's get to work."

His eyes began to flutter, and the edges of his vision were going black. No, he struggled to think, not like this... I must... I must...

Vegeta was nearly unconscious the moment he felt somebody guiding a thick tube deep down his throat. He tried to speak and found himself totally paralysed. The last thing he saw was a person clad in green surgical scrubs depressing the plunger on a large syringe filled with a milky white fluid.

His vision went black.

* * *

It had been eight hours. Bulma's bladder was so full, she thought it may burst, but she insisted on simply crossing her legs tight together. She'd refused to leave the private waiting room the minute Vegeta had been admitted and taken back for emergency surgery for more than two minutes at a time.

She'd hitched a ride in the ambulance to arrive with Vegeta and provide his information to the nurse (it was a remarkable feat of lying on Bulma's behalf, who had cried the entire way to the hospital) and had been soon joined by her mother and Yamcha. Dr. Briefs came by two hours into the surgery, once all the emergency vehicles and first responders had cleared the compound, and had left after five and a half hours of waiting to pick up some dinner. Nobody knew when he would return.

"Honey, go pee. If somebody comes out, I'll make them hang around long enough for you to learn the news. Come on now," Mrs. Briefs gently chided her daughter, "no sense in suffering right now."

She practically ran to the washroom. After spending all of two minutes in the washroom, lingering just long enough to wash her hands properly and reapply some lip balm, she returned to the waiting room to find there had been no update.

Stomach rumbling, she opted to visit the hospital atrium's deli for another cup of coffee. She was going to take longer than two minutes this time.

Eight hours and forty three minutes later, one of the surgeons emerged to deliver the news. An older man with thick salt and pepper hair, a creamy complexion, and deep circles under his eyes, he took a deep breath before updating the worried friends of the strange looking man he'd just saved. It had been an exhausting endeavour, but the man had pulled through. If the man knew the Briefs, he must have been somebody important.

"The surgeries were a success. We've sent him through for an MRI to ensure there's no injury to the brain, so we're keeping him in a medically-induced coma for now, but... incredibly... it would appear all the injuries to his head are superficial. If things look alright, we'll bring him out of the coma over the course of a day. This way, he'll sleep through the worst of the pain. There's a lot of trauma in the form of deep lacerations, blood loss, several broken bones, bruising, deep second degree burns. It's remarkable he wasn't maimed, but how he actually survived, I don't know. It must be some type of miracle if I've ever seen one."

Bulma let out a huge sigh of relief, sinking into a chair, a paper cup of coffee threatening to buckle in her grip. "Oh, thank God! Did you hear that, everybody? He's going to survive! He's gonna be okay!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Miss Briefs. Mr. Vegeta faces a long road to recovery. Let's wait until he's fully conscious before getting too optimistic... I'm still dumbfounded as to how he survived, given the extent of his injuries and the type of accident he was involved in. That man either has one hell of a guardian angel, or he's not really human. That said, I'm just glad he came through. We'll have somebody let you know when he's been brought into a private room."

Nobody said much for a long while. Bulma stared up at the ceiling tile, unsure of what to say. Would Vegeta pull through and be the same?

"It's good news..." Yamcha offered, wary. He did not want to visit the Saiyan in hospital, but he was curious to see what Vegeta would look like in a medically-induced coma.

Finally, Dr. Briefs returned, carrying large paper bags filled with hamburgers, french fries and onion rings, condiments, and a tray of soft drinks. Everybody was quick to pull the food out of the bags and distribute it, saying very little aside from quiet comments about how it was nice to eat something hot and filling.

After so many tense hours without anything but coffee and cups of water, the hamburgers were practically gourmet. Bulma devoured two hamburgers and a large cup of onion rings in record time, only stopping to speak when her stomach was full.

"Once he's in his own room, I'm going to stop by and see how he's doing. Don't feel you have to hang around, everybody..."

"Um, he's in a coma," Yamcha spoke through a mouth full of French fries, "he won't know or care if you're there. Besides, even if he were conscious, he's in such bad shape that he's probably on a morphine drip and won't be chatting. C'mon Bulma, come home with us and get some sleep."

"I'm gonna stay a little while longer. See if I can't get some news on the MRIs. I'll call a cab if it's really late," Bulma snapped, annoyed by Yamcha's attitude, "and I'd do the same for anybody in this room!"

"Anybody up for a game of euchre?" Mrs. Briefs produced a deck of playing cards from her purse and slammed it on the table.

"Ugh, I'm getting another coffee," Bulma rose from her seat and left the waiting room. This time, she look a long walk through the massive atrium and chose to pick up a cup of coffee at a 24 hour convenience store across the road.

Nine and a half hours after the accident, with Yamcha, Dr. Briefs, and Bunny at home to get some rest and decompress from the horrible situation, Bulma waited in the room by herself, picking through the last large order of onion rings.

A nurse knocked on the door before entering. "Hi there. You stayed all this time, huh? He sure is lucky to have you for a friend! Well, the MRIs look good, from what we've seen so far. We've got him resting in a private room now. I can let you visit him for a just few minutes, alright?"

"Okay," Bulma shoved the remnants of her fast food binge into a wastepaper basket, "just lead the way."

A heart monitor beeped softly somewhere in the dim hospital room. Vegeta was in a coma, as Bulma expected, but the sight of the powerful Saiyan being sustained by what looked like a small jungle of tubes and wires connected to different monitors and jelly bags of saline and different medications was still shocking. His bruised eyes were swollen shut, and some small cuts to his burned cheeks and forehead had been stitched shut and covered with bandages.

"Vegeta..." she pulled a chair to his bedside and looked over his battered body, at a loss for words. He looked so small.

For twenty minutes, Bulma just watched Vegeta breathe with the assistance of a machine. She went home and found it impossible to sleep. At seven in the morning, she showered, changed into clean clothing, purchased breakfast and a cup of coffee from a drive-thru, and went straight to the hospital. Even if Vegeta remained unconscious all day, she intended to remain by his side for as much of it as she could manage.

* * *

_Vegeta walked down the narrow path, dark forest to his left and a deep river to his right, and occasionally looked up into the sky. No stars twinkled, no moon glowed, no satellites blinked overhead. It was the strangest sky he'd seen in many months, and the longer he walked the more the sky turned from velvety black to a burnt grey-orange. A cold wind whipped around him, moving through his hair and brushing against his scalp like ghostly fingers. Fat flakes of snow started to fall from the sky and accumulated on the ground in no time._

_Finding himself clad in a long cloak of sleek, thick reddish-black fur, he drew it tighter around his shoulders and pressed onward._

_In the distance, he saw the towering figure of his father, instantly recognizable even in the dark night._

" _Appa! Appa!" Vegeta called out, breaking into a run, the oversize cloak billowing out behind him._

_The figure faded away and vanished into thin air as he approached._

_He was alone, between the forest and the river, with nowhere to go. All he could do was keep walking._

_Where am I going, he asked himself, where do I go? I am lost. I'm lost! I'm so lost! Why won't anybody help me?_

_Pain began swell inside his chest and his eyes stung, but his attempts to control his breathing were in vain. He couldn't control his own breathing._

_Why am I here?_

_He looked up at the burnt-orange sky. Would God ever answer him, or was he totally on his own?_

* * *

Forty eight hours after coming out of surgery, the doctors who had operated on Vegeta agreed it was time to take their patient out of his coma. Aside from Bulma, he had no other visitors.

Bulma was present as the first of the tubes were removed and Vegeta finally breathed on his own. The powerful drugs keeping him under were taken away and his body began to eliminate what remained in his system. A heart monitor was kept on, and his heart continued to beat, steady and strong and healthy.

Scarcely breathing and her eyes wide as saucers, Bulma watched as Vegeta's fingers occasionally twitched. He cleared his throat on his own and grimaced for a half second, making her giggle softly. She gently stroked his hair, and he almost stirred, movements impeded by the cast on his left leg and foot, the heavy braces immobilizing his wrists and forearms, and the neck brace holding everything above the collarbone mostly still.

After six hours, Vegeta's eyes opened slightly, just wide enough so Bulma could spot those inky irises in a sea of fading bruises.

"Oh, Vegeta..." Bulma stroked his hands, avoiding the fingers wrapped up in splints, "thank God you're awake..."

"Where... mmm..." his voice was like dried leaves blowing across concrete, weak from not being used and throat still raw from the tube, "...'ulma..."

"The hospital," she continued stroking his hand, "you had an accident."

"...'dis morning?" Vegeta looked away from Bulma and up at the ceiling, recalling a glimmer of similar ceiling tiles immediately after the explosion.

She moved her hand back up to his hair, "I'm gonna get the doctor, okay?"

"Don'leave..." he croaked, not realizing there was a call button hooked up to the railing of his bed.

"I'm not gonna leave. They're coming to you, your highness."

He let out something resembling a chuckle and his eyes shut for a few minutes. "How long... been here?"

"Three days."

"Nooo," he tried to move his head and grimaced at the realization he was wearing a neck brace, "no way..."

A gentle rapping at the door before one of the doctors entered, much more energetic and relieved to see the strange man awake. He seemed to be more alert than most patients already, only making him just that more remarkable.

"Good afternoon, everybody! Well, Mr. Vegeta, you truly are my miracle patient... it's good to see you're awake," the doctor pulled up a chair beside Vegeta's bed and took a look at his eyes. He seemed aware of his surroundings and grew more alert by the minute. The strange man was able to follow his finger tips, gave his first name and his age (thirty two, apparently), and was capable of responding to simple questions.

"I don't know the exact details of your, ahem, incident, Mr. Vegeta, but we had a very delicate situation on our hands... your life certainly hung in the balance for a while. I'm thrilled to say you came through the surgery and have already had a chance to recover for two days. When you're feeling a bit more awake, maybe after a good meal too, we'll talk about your recovery plan, alright? We can do that tomorrow."

"So I nearly died," Vegeta avoided his gaze and his voice slurred, "is what you're saying. I've been dead once before. Not a nice place. It's so cold down there."

The doctor struggled to keep his mouth shut. Finally, he cleared his throat and continued speaking: "I'm sure you've realized you're wearing some very stylish braces and a cast by now, hmm? Don't worry, we'll be removing the neck brace later today. Your spine is in great shape! We think you'll be able to sit up comfortably by tomorrow."

Vegeta didn't respond and shut his eyes. Assuming his patient was still feeling groggy, he took Bulma aside and began to speak with her: "I really don't know how he survived the trip to the hospital, let alone the operation. His heart briefly stopped during surgery due to the challenge of just... getting enough blood into circulation, to explain it in simplest terms. Miss Briefs, uh, the reason why I'm speaking to you know, to be perfectly honest, is because I've never seen anybody with a body like his. You say he's an employee of Capsule Corp? Because the x-rays... the blood work from this morning is unlike anything I've ever seen... and his teeth! Oh my God, his teeth! And that hair! Unbelievable!"

Eyes narrowing, Bulma looked at the doctor with suspicion: "what are you trying to get at, doctor?"

"We ought to meet for coffee, Miss Briefs. I want to talk with you about the recovery plan for your _employee_..." the doctor's eyes narrowed, "and that conversation is going to take some time. Say, three o'clock tomorrow? We can meet in the atrium."

"That's fine. Three o'clock. _We'll_ talk. So when can he start eating regularly? My Mom's been cooking up a storm in anticipation for a feeding frenzy."


	49. A Minute In The Sun

"Good morning, sweetie!" A familiar, cheerful voice pierced through the shallow state of relaxation Vegeta had finally fallen into after a long and very uncomfortable night during which he only slept an hour at the most. His stomach ached from hunger, totally empty after three days in a coma and on a nutrient drip.

"Nnn," his swollen eyelids cracked open and he realized Mrs. Briefs had come to visit him. She carried two huge patterned canvas bags with her, and the Saiyan caught the smell of fresh flowers _and_ food. If she had brought coffee as well, he risked shedding tears of joy.

_Wow. I feel like_ _**shit** _ _._

He noticed the room he'd woken up in was different than the one he'd been in the day prior- although Vegeta hadn't grasped the severity of being in an intensive care unit at a metropolitan hospital, he'd come to realize he was being kept in a sterile, cold room filled with different machines because of the accident, which meant he'd been hurt and had been transported to some type of medical facility. This new room was warmer, with walls painted soft yellow, and featured a huge window that overlooked a tree-filled park and a large pond. His bed wasn't exactly comfortable, but he wasn't in much pain either.

"I'm so glad you were able to wake up not long after surgery. Boy, we were all so worried about you, Vegeta!"

Mrs. Briefs set her bags down, retrieved a vase from one of the bags, and went into the adjacent washroom to fill it with water. She arranged a mixture of late spring flowers from her gardens in the vase and set it on the windowsill. "There, isn't that nice? Something to help cheer up this room for now. I'll be right back, honey, I want to get a nurse in here to help you sit up."

As it turned out, sitting upright in the bed was no simple task. When he tried to move, everything hurt. Some movements, purely experimental, caused the nurses to stop him and warn him to stop moving without their guidance. The top half of the bed rose with him, and a nurse slid two plastic packs filled with air underneath his knees. It was painful, but once he was sitting up, he felt a bit better. Although his movements were slow and very stiff, he could slowly flex his arms and move his thumbs, left and right index fingers, and his right middle finger.

"We've got a server coming by to bring you some breakfast in a few minutes, Mr. Vegeta. Hope you don't mind, but a bunch of us at the nurses' station decided you looked like a two-egg omelette with ham and cheese kind of guy. Rita, get in here!"

A short, fat nurse with curly red hair poked her head into the room and grinned when she saw the patient nicknamed "the miracle man" was awake and alert. "Oh, look who's awake! Amazing!"

"What did you select for his side dishes? And the drink?"

"Oh yeah! Hope you like corn flakes and fruit salad, miracle man! Uhh, I forget what we decided on for a drink. Was it coffee? Or did we go with green tea?"

"I think we went with green tea. Do you like green tea, Mr. Vegeta?"

Vegeta couldn't believe what he was witnessing. This was the most bizarre medical facility he'd ever been in. A variety of food available to patients? Nurses monitoring him from a station _and_ making rounds? A bright room with a window? Where the hell was he, anyway?

"I am so confused," he hadn't meant to burst out with that, face growing warm, "what's going on here? Where exactly am I?"

"Sir, you are in a private deluxe recovery suite on the seventh floor of West City Metropolitan Hospital. Don't worry, Mr. Vegeta, you'll be brought up to speed today. Your breakfast should arrive in a few minutes. We would have asked you what you wanted, but you were being taken for another round of x-rays and tests last night when all the orders are sent in. See you in a little while."

He wasn't impressed with the hospital breakfast, but he ate it anyway, desperate to quiet his growling stomach. The food wasn't exactly _bad,_ but it was bland and the portion sizes were paltry. The tea had been allowed to over-brew, and Vegeta refused to drink it.

"I'm guessing you're still hungry," Mrs. Briefs removed the nearly empty tray provided by the hospital and reached into one of her canvas bags, revealing a glass container filled with crispy potatoes and sausages, "so I decided to bring you a little something."

"You guessed right," Vegeta managed to pull the lid off and took a fork when offered, "fuck, this is delicious," he kept talking with his mouth full, "you keep bringing me food, woman, and I will tolerate this place. Mmm..."

When Bulma turned up with two cups of coffee in a cardboard tray and a large paper bag filled with baked goods, the Saiyan knew something very strange had happened to him. Never in his life had he received visitors while in hospital- at least not any who had brought food and flowers, anyway. Visitors while in medical care usually meant he'd fucked up and was about to face imminent punishment.

"Good morning, everybody!" The doctor with the salt and pepper hair had returned, strolling in immediately after knocking, "and you've got some home cooking, I see! Looks like you ate the room service breakfast, too. Heh. Do you remember me? I'm Doctor Clark," he extended his hand but Vegeta refused to do the same, "and you are making remarkable progress, Mr. Vegeta. I actually came by today to talk with you about your incident and your course of recovery. Can you tell me the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

"Before I woke up in this room, I was in a colder room with more machines and felt hung the fuck over on _something._ "

The doctor laughed. "I'll explain that room to you soon. It's normal to feel tired and foggy after what you went though. Can you remember anything before that room?"

Vegeta took a long sip of coffee and tried to piece together what had happened. This doctor wanted to know why he'd shown up half dead and all sliced up at the hospital. "Alright," Vegeta finally spoke, "I woke up at about four thirty, like usual, had something to eat, and went to work with the machine that malfunctioned. Then there's a blank spot. Then I was inside some vehicle, there were some lights, somebody shoving a hard tube down my throat, and then I woke up feeling like shit."

"Mmhm," Doctor Clark nodded, "you were involved in a serious accident. We've learned you were working on a large, ahem, machine of some variety when there was a massive mechanical malfunction and an explosion as a result. Miss Briefs, have you collected any more information on what occurred?"

"It's Doctor Briefs," Bulma smirked, "we're combing over the wreckage, narrowing down the cause of the explosion. We suspect there was some sort of electrical malfunction that triggered everything, but it's still too early to confirm that idea. To be honest with you, I've been spending a lot of time here and just trying to catch up on sleep when I _am_ at home, so right now I only receive daily memos regarding the investigation. I will arrange for somebody from Capsule HQ to contact you the minute we have learned the true cause of the accident."

"Alright, that sounds fine," Doctor Clark turned to Vegeta, "but I'd like to speak with you alone, Mr. Vegeta, regarding your treatment here. Your surgery was quite intense, but I'm really glad you've come through so quickly. Looks like you have an appetite, too! Ladies, can I ask for a few moments in private?"

Once Bulma and Bunny Briefs had left, Doctor Clark pulled a chair to Vegeta's bedside and set a thick manila folder on the beside table. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what he was about to tell his patient: "you sustained the kind of trauma that usually kills a human. Given the type of accident you were supposedly involved in, I'm amazed you weren't blown to pieces. You sustained a great number of deep lacerations across your limbs and torso, and we had to reattach some severed tendons and stitch muscle back together. You sustained catastrophic blood loss and required more than a dozen units of blood during surgery, and at one point during surgery your heart stopped for ten seconds. We sourced skin for grafting from your inner thighs and buttocks, so don't be too shocked to find stitches there too. You have six fractured ribs, a broken tibia, four broken fingers, badly sprained wrists, second degree burns to your hands, legs, back, chest, and shoulders, and all sorts of little cuts, scratches, scrapes, and bruises of varying severity. In short, you are a very lucky man, Mr. Vegeta. You came very close to death, and your rate of recovery has been remarkable to say the least. I'm guessing you can recall being conscious for a few minutes yesterday, based on your comments about the room. You were in intensive care, in a medically-induced coma, which we brought you out of yesterday. Your accident occurred four days ago."

Vegeta took another sip of coffee and fiddled with the plastic tab opening. "Alright then. So what now?"

"Give me that," Doctor Clark pulled the coffee out of the Saiyan's hands, "we need to have a very serious conversa-"

"Give me back my coffee, _Doctor_ ," Vegeta's eyes glimmered and he scowled, "I can talk and drink coffee at the same time."

Doctor Clark returned the coffee and huffed. "Today, you're going to have all your dressings changed, and I'll make sure you get a good shower, too. I'll be coming by in the late afternoon to check on you one more time before my partner monitors you overnight. It's too early to say when you'll be strong enough to commence physical rehabilitation, which we'll discuss in detail when your condition improves. For now, the plan is to keep you comfortable, out of pain, and allow your body the chance to begin healing."

" _We_ need to discuss this food thing. That breakfast was crap. You can't expect me to survive on meals that are not much more than two eggs and a tiny box of cereal the size of my palm. Oh, and we can't forget about the little cup of fruit!"

"Hmm," Doctor Clark pulled out a pad of paper and jotted down a short memo, "you do appear to be a very athletic man... and good nutrition is key to healing. I'll make sure you're switched to a high calorie diet plan in time for your lunch order."

"Fine. Oh. One more thing. Why did you call me a dimmer switch in that other room?"

The doctor laughed and his face spread into a forced smile. He'd been quite certain his patient was unconscious when he'd said that. "Oh, I didn't mean it in a bad way! I apologize if you thought I was insulting you. Being in a medically-induced coma isn't something you can just snap out of. Basically, you're waking up very, very slowly. It's why you could remember some details the room, but nothing else, and it's also why you're feeling a bit strange right now. I used the "dimmer switch" as an analogy for one of the ladies checking in on you. You gradually came back to your full, aware state. And you've done incredibly well for somebody so early into recovery."

"Mm. Is that all, then?"

"Not quite," Doctor Clark took his folder off the bedside table and retrieved an x-ray of Vegeta's skull, holding up to the light, "your x-rays are showing me something unique, Mr. Vegeta. Interesting facial structure, and quite possibly the longest roots I've ever seen on a full set of teeth. Your third molars have grown in perfectly straight, with more than enough room in the upper and lower jaw. Such large eyes, too. Much larger than the average human's. Fascinating stuff..."

Vegeta rolled his eyes. What did his teeth and eyeballs have to do with anything they'd been speaking about?

"You said you were an employee of Capsule Corp? What is it you do, exactly?"

"I work alongside Doctor Briefs on some projects," he responded without missing a beat, "you could say I'm responsible for testing and development."

"And the machine you were working on?"

"Working _in_."

"Well, what was it, exactly?"

"Ask Doctor Briefs for an explanation. I'm starting to feel a bit dim again," he smirked and had another sip of coffee, draining his cup.

"Of course," Doctor Clark rose from his seat, visibly annoyed, "maybe we can have another chat tomorrow. I'll see you later, Mr. Vegeta."

Mrs. Briefs stayed long enough to make Vegeta's room a bit more comfortable, providing a warmer blanket, another pillow, his housecoat (hung up on the hook in his en-suite washroom) and two containers filled with snacks that would keep at room temperature. She left when the nurses came by to change his dressings just after ten in the morning.

Even though the nurses warned Vegeta that the process of cleaning his wounds would be unpleasant and assured him they could take short breaks, he told them he just wanted to get it over with. He said nothing when they removed all the bandages and kept his eyes firmly shut during a seated shower. When they rinsed his hair after a thorough shampooing, it was tinged brown-red from dried blood. They gently pulled tiny pieces of glass from his hair. When they set him stomach down on the freshly changed bed and starting to treat his back, Vegeta stopped to request a folded towel, which he bit down on. When somebody lanced a series of large, tight blisters on his back, he screamed into the towel and pressed his forehead into the mattress.

The process of having his wounds thoroughly cleaned and dressed was agonizing, and by the time they were through, lunch was to be served within the hour. This time, at least, he was able to order what he wanted to eat.

Although the idea of having spaghetti and meatballs, chef's salad, whole milk, and a slice of carrot cake sounded delicious, Vegeta was disappointed by the portion sizes and the taste of his meal. Bulma turned up for the afternoon as he finished the final crumbs of his cake, carrying another canvas bag.

"How was your chat with Doctor Clark?" Bulma switched on the television and began clicking through the channels.

"What a fuckin' weirdo," the Saiyan rolled his eyes, "going on about my x-rays being _fascinating_ and _unusual_..."

Nervousness bubbled up in Bulma's gut. "Oh yeah? Well, let me talk to him... and _don't say or do anything_ to freak him out in the meantime!"

The nurse named Rita knocked on the door, apologizing for the intrusion, and produced a vanilla milkshake in a styrofoam cup. "A bunch of the girls and I thought you deserved this. It'll be our secret, alright?"

"I'm no snitch," Vegeta paid no mind to the nurse as she took away his tray, digging into the ice cream concoction.

The nurse burst out laughing and waved goodbye to her patient. He was quickly gaining a reputation for being very charming on top of being considered a miracle. Bulma watched this exchange, stunned by what she was witnessing. She knew Vegeta could be witty, but he was showing off an ability to enchant just about anybody who entered the room. He'd never been so overtly and consistently charming at home. Had the explosion triggered a very unusual mood swing, or was he just working with another side of his complex personality? Over the hours, every single nurse that came by to check on him, regardless of age or gender, appeared to find him charming. Many of them promised to return with treats or small material comforts, and Vegeta would vow to keep it a secret.

By four in the afternoon, Vegeta had been given a milkshake, another cup of coffee, a tin of cookies (hidden in one of the drawers of his beside table), chocolate and candies, a wide-tooth comb for his hair, and a pair of fuzzy blue socks. Bulma couldn't believe what she was seeing. How could this alien, who was often so unpleasant, have so many humans (creatures Vegeta admitted to disliking) practically wrapped around his little finger? The sight of it all made the hairs on Bulma's arms stand up on end.

Doctor Clark arrived at Vegeta's room just after four fifteen and gave his patient an uneasy smile. He couldn't help but feel there was something a bit _off_ about the guy, but he couldn't figure out what it was that made him feel that way. Something about the way his patient had looked at him for a split second during their morning chat sent a chill up his spine.

"Hello, everybody. Ah, Doctor Briefs, I was hoping we could have a chat today..."

"Oh yes, of course. We agreed to that yesterday, didn't we? Whenever you're ready, I am."

* * *

They didn't go to the atrium for coffee. Instead, Doctor Clark asked Bulma to follow him to his office on the ninth floor. With the door shut and locked, and his phone set on vibrate, Doctor Clark proceeded to clip some of Vegeta's x-rays to a light board mounted on the wall and switched it on. Bulma muttered something about turning her phone to vibrate, but turned on the voice recorder instead.

She was getting used to this sort of thing, even more now that Vegeta was a resident at the Capsule compound. Some people really did think she was stupid and could be easily taken advantage of, and now that she was in her thirties, it was getting tiring. He'd be easy to deal with. Doctor Clark wasn't _that_ smart.

"You know as well as I do that these x-rays aren't normal, Doctor Briefs. These teeth," he pointed to Vegeta's mandible with the end of a pencil, "aren't human teeth. The length and size... these teeth look like they belong to a gorilla, or a chimp..."

"Maybe he's got some crowns? I don't know the guy's dental history," Bulma shrugged, "and I don't know of any gorilla or chimp that vocalizes like he does! Or has hair like he does..."

"Those teeth aren't crowns, believe me. I went ahead and performed a bone density scan, considering Mr. Vegeta sustained the kind of bone fractures we typically see in children or very young adults. You know, young people with supple, springy bones. We call them green stick fractures. And Mr. Vegeta, of course, claims to be thirty two years old. None of his bones, despite the kind of incident he was in, were completely broken. Just fractured to varying degrees. Anyway, the results of the bone density scan came back, and either our machines are broken or he's got the heaviest, densest bones ever recorded, and it just so happens they appear to be comparable in strength to steel beams used for skyscrapers. Not to mention, going from near death and severed tendons to sitting upright, being talkative, and wanting to eat all the time in the space of four days? Unheard of."

Again, Bulma shrugged. "Anything else, Doctor Clark?"

Dr. Clark removed his glasses and stared directly into Bulma's eyes: "that man is no human. He's no local. Hell, I even saw that fucking stub of a monkey tail! He looks a lot like one of those weird creatures they caught on camera a few years back! And now, I possess some fascinating evidence to present to the media! Capsule Corporation enlists extra-terrestrial being to work on secret projects! Unless, of course, we worked out some sort of... confidentiality agreement."

Bulma leaned back in her chair, smirked, and for some reason Vegeta's laugh (the genuinely amused one) came through her loud and clear. "Okay, then. Let me see if I've got this straight, Doctor Clark. First, you ran some tests that sound rather unnecessary on a man who was brought in after a terrible accident, without notifying me, the patient's designated guardian. And I get the feeling you ran those tests when he was in his coma, so he couldn't have provided consent either. Second, you've brought me into your office to show me some x-rays and test results which you believe provide evidence that I, and by extension, Capsule Corporation... am housing an extra-terrestrial being. And now you are threatening to distribute a private citizen's medical information to the media to back up your claims, and unless I agree what certainly sounds like some sort of blackmail? Did I get that all right, or did I misunderstand you?"

"There's barely any information on this guy! How strange that in an age of electronic medical records, I can find _nothing_ on this "Mister Vegeta" guy. You know that guy isn't normal. What kind of a name is "Vegeta", anyway?"

"Maybe he changed his name. I don't know what to tell you, Doctor Clark, other than that you sound like a total fucking idiot right now. Just what are you looking for in exchange for your silence? I mean, assuming you can actually prove this man is an alien. Are you just looking for some media attention? A minute in the sun, if you will?"

Dr. Clark pulled on his tie. "I want two point five million zeni every year for the next ten years."

"Very cute," Bulma picked up her phone, turned off the voice recorder, and smirked again, "but that won't be happening. But I will cut you a deal, Doctor Clark: you collect all the medical images and test results on my employee and have them in my hands within ninety minutes, and in exchange I'll have you transferred to West County Correctional Facility's hospital wing. They need a new physician considering their last one was stabbed and decided to leave... and unfortunately they've had a lot of difficulty filling the position since then. It's a wonderful deal, considering you're now on record threatening to release an innocent person's private information to the general public _and_ blackmail my family and my company into some kind of sick compliance. Don't worry, I'll let the hospital's HR department and the president know about your immediate resignation for you. I can just squeeze in for an appointment with her if I say it's a bit urgent. Her family and mine go way back, you know? Anyway, I'll be back on the seventh floor. Make sure to bring everything in a folder, alright? It's been nice chatting, Doctor Clark. Good luck!"

With that, Bulma rose from her seat, beamed at the stunned doctor, and headed back to Vegeta's room.

During the dinner hour, Vegeta received a few more visitors: Mrs. Briefs, Dr. Briefs, and even Yamcha stopped by for a few minutes before excusing himself and leaving the hospital.

Although annoyed with how crowded his room was becoming, visitors kept bringing him food, so he tolerated their presence. The hospital brought him a grilled chicken breast with roasted vegetables, a cup of tomato soup, and portion of fruit compote, which the Saiyan devoured anyway. Once he'd finished the hospital meal, he immediately dug into the baked ziti Mrs. Briefs had brought him.

Doctor Clark entered without knocking, handed Bulma a thick, sealed envelope, and gave Vegeta very curt nod. "Best of luck, Mr. Vegeta."

The Saiyan licked his teeth before flashing them at the doctor and growling deep in his throat. "They'll never believe you," he sneered. He went right back to eating the meal Mrs. Briefs had prepared and focused on the television, switched to a quiz show.

When Bulma sighed and rubbed her temples, Vegeta sniffed loudly. "Hey, you said you'd talk to him, and you did... so I figured it was time to freak him out."

Bunny and Dr. Briefs looked warily at one another, but decided it was best to not get involved at that very moment. Things had a way of moving fast with their unusual guest, and even being confined to a hospital bed didn't change that.


	50. Backslide

Fourteen days into his hospital stay, Vegeta was officially healing at a rate nobody had ever seen before. His injured tendons and muscles were repairing "beautifully" (to quote an ultrasound technician) and the blisters giving way to fresh, sensitive skin and scar tissue. Bulma came to visit him the most often, partly out of concern for his well-being but especially to keep an eye on his behaviour. He never uttered any direct threats or even swore at the nurses out of malice (he swore when they changed his dressings but nobody could fault that), but Bulma swore she could feel the energy in the room change when the Saiyan was displeased with somebody. Other times, he was quite funny and strangely charming, and there was almost always a strange glimmer in his eyes... when his eyes didn't look blank and ice cold, that is. And when his eyes got blank and cold, everybody would approach him with caution. Although none of them discussed it openly, all the nurses picked up on these strange, subtle shifts in energy and would only approach in pairs or in threes whenever the _bad_ energy was present.

For the most part, Vegeta didn't seem all that bothered by being in the hospital. He ate fairly well, the supervising physician ordering a 3000 calorie diet which was supplemented by Mrs. Briefs' meals and plenty of snacks. Mrs. Briefs had brought him several sets of pyjamas (all new, based on their smell when he received them) with front button closures and easy drawstrings, and although Vegeta wasn't exactly fond of them, he still wore them. He slept at least seven hours per night and napped during the day, but found his dreams were more vivid and gruesome than ever- and it wasn't a good thing. He got a daily shower and was very relived to be more independent with every passing day, and always insisted Bulma comb out his hair once it had dried. He still couldn't raise his hands over his head without it resulting in pain, but he did it anyway. He was getting up to use the toilet on his own, even though he was supposed to page for assistance.

One afternoon, the one called Krillin came to pay Vegeta a visit. He made certain to bring food after Bulma and Yamcha both recommended he do so for maximum chance of cooperation, opting to smuggle in a container of Pad Thai and another of grilled salmon with rice, ordered from two separate restaurants. When Vegeta saw this, he ordered Krillin to shut the door.

"Alright, baldie. You can stay. What exactly are you doing here?" Vegeta frowned at the sight of another plastic fork but soon forgot about his annoyance the minute he tried the fish.

Krillin scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat. "Word got 'round that you were in a horrible accident, and, well, I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright. Your recovery is really impressive..."

"Oh, do spare me..." the Saiyan had another greedy mouthful of salmon and hummed with pleasure at the taste, "and turn on the TV. There's a channel that broadcasts ridiculous films... some of them are alright, but most of them are shit."

Krillin wasted no time turning on the television, discovering it was set to a channel that broadcast action films. "You like this kind of stuff, Vegeta? Huh..."

A film about a seemingly indestructible killer robot from the future was playing. "Oh, this one is good," Vegeta managed to speak through a mouth full of rice, "I like this film. Here, take this and give me the next dish."

Movements still slow but graceful, Vegeta held out the empty container of salmon and rice and gave Krillin a pointed look.

"Oh," Krillin took the empty container and immediately gave the Saiyan the next container, "still hungry, huh?"

"Very," Vegeta managed to reply before practically inhaling his first bite of Pad Thai, "good thin' y'got 'shikken n' dofu n' eggs..." he kept talking with his mouth full. Oh, he loved that noodle dish.

"Yeah," Krillin's gaze drifted back towards the television, "thought you might... like... it..." his voice trailed off. Vegeta's eating habits were considerably more refined than Goku's, but watching him eat was just a bit unnerving.

The film cut to a commercial break. Vegeta finished the last of the second dish Krillin had brought him, and again he held out the empty container to beckon the man. Tongue sweeping across his teeth and eager for something to drink, he motioned to an empty cup on his beside. Get me water while you're at it, his eyes warned.

How does he manage to be so scary when he's stuck in a hospital bed, Krillin pondered as he stared into the bathroom mirror, waiting for the tap water to be cool enough to enjoy. Vegeta was a rather particular man, and Krillin wasn't willing to annoy him. He could still move and talk and therefore he was to be considered dangerous.

For whatever reason, Vegeta said Krillin was welcome to stay and watch the film, so as long as he didn't engage in any kind of prying conversation. They engaged in bits of small talk. When Vegeta enquired about the man's training and how he was enjoying some "down time", it took Krillin a few seconds to realize the Saiyan was actually behaving in a manner most would consider polite, maybe even friendly. When a nurse came around to clean his healing surgical wounds, the shy monk was quite shocked to find Vegeta was cooperative and seemed to trust what the nurse was doing.

Krillin knew to expect surgical incisions and healing wounds, but he hadn't been expecting so many long incision scars that occasionally intersected with older scars with unknown origins. There were tiny red marks from where drainage tubes had been inserted into his abdomen and chest, fading bruises, and so many new surgical scars, plenty still stitched up, that Krillin lost the silent count he'd been holding in his head.

"How do you feel about rolling onto your side today?"

"That's fine," Vegeta lazily rolled onto his right side and didn't flinch as the still-healing wound on his hip was cleaned, "if I'm walking normally in three days, I can begin training soon enough."

"Oooh, I think you've got a bit to go before you're walking unassisted. What are you training for?"

"Excuse me?" Vegeta grimaced when the wound was thoroughly cleansed and rinsed with a saline solution. He hated how cold it always was.

"What kind of event are you training for? Were you planning to run a race before your accident?"

" _Uhh_..." Krillin thought he was going to be sick.

"Martial arts," muttered Vegeta, who remained perfectly still when the nurse applied gentle pressure to the tender area around the wound.

"Oh yeah? My sister just earned her black belt in Tae Kwon Do. What styles are you familiar with?"

"Mixed. My aim is to disable my enemy in the least amount of time needed while also going for the maximum amount of damage. Just let me watch and I pick up fast enough."

"Oh my, you must be very good. You sound like a tough guy to beat! Are you planning to compete in the World Martial Arts Tournament?"

"I am now," Vegeta shot back instantly, his interest piqued by this new piece of information. A worldwide fighting tournament? After he turned the robots into scrap metal, he was going to fight in whatever this tournament was all about. He would win, and it would be a glorious start to his reign; first on Earth, before he spread out to other planets and back into PTO territory. He really would rule the galaxy one day, starting with Earth.

The nurse laughed and finished dressing the healing wound. "It's at least two years from now. You'll have time to get through physiotherapy before easing yourself back into training. That's a great goal to set!"

The Saiyan responded only with a second long hum deep in his throat. When asked, he rolled onto his other side. He wasn't amused, but she was ignorant and wasn't to be taken seriously. When the nurse finished dressing the incisions on his hips, he slowly rolled back up to an seated upright position and did something nobody expected: he rolled his shoulders back and forth.

"Ready to work on your back and shoulders?"

"Yes," Vegeta unbuttoned his top and shimmied out of it, "I'm itching like hell."

The nurse started to remove the old dressings. "Well, let me just... see..." she went silent and traced over a bright red scar, shiny and smooth and fresh. There was no way he could be healing so quickly. Not after the intense surgery and brutal injuries he'd sustained just two weeks prior.

"Take the stitches out. They're irritating. I think I can start lifting my arms over my head soon."

"I'll be right back, Mr. Vegeta," the nurse turned away from his bedside and was calling for a doctor before she'd even left the room.

* * *

After eighteen days, Vegeta was officially discharged from the hospital. He was asked to visit the supervising surgeon every week for the following three months. To Bulma's surprise, Vegeta agreed to this condition.

To Vegeta's massive shock, several of the nurses offered very sincere-sounding good wishes and bid him goodbye. He was sent home with several pamphlets about his continued recovery and basic physical exercises he could ease himself into (the staff at the hospital clearly underestimated him), a collection of anti-biotic creams, filled prescriptions for painkillers and anti-inflammatories, and a huge paper bag of dressings and alcohol swabs.

While he left the building in a wheelchair, the moment he and Bulma had passed the threshold to the main doors, Vegeta shakily rose to his feet and walked all the way to the car.

When Vegeta was in the front passenger seat of Bulma's compact utility vehicle, he heaved a huge sigh and leaned into the cushioned seat back. She'd been required to carry all of the things in his hospital room back home (no surprise) and slid it underneath a back seat.

"I'm so fucking hungry. Food _now._ "

"Okay, big guy. Where to?"

"A cheeseburger and those onion rings. Then falafel with lots of garlic and pickled vegetables and greens, with hummus and pita on the side. And pizza- a big one. And steak cooked extra rare. You might as well get chicken wings with hot sauce. Oh, and fruit. A lot of fresh fruit right away."

"Umm, yeah. I think that I'm gonna get you home and then I'll go get all that food..."

Vegeta slapped a hand on the dashboard and growled. "Right now, damn it!"

Rolling her eyes, Bulma pulled out of the hospital parking lot and drove directly to a fast food restaurant. Once Vegeta had a few bites of a double cheeseburger with onion rings and a soft drink, his mood levelled off and he agreed to going home.

"You'd best be fast about this food run, woman," Vegeta continued growling, his mouth full of fast food.

"Damn, who pissed in your corn flakes? I'll be as fast as I can! Like, have you even figured out where you're gonna lay down when you get home? Your hips obviously still hurt."

"Couch in the living room," Vegeta muttered before taking a huge sip of root beer, "at least for today. Fuck your stairs and fuck flying. I'm _exhausted_."

"You are so rude! Why are you taking this out on me, huh? And how can you be so tired, huh?"

"I am fucking hungry! Do you not get that?"

"Oh yeah, so scream at me about that! Why didn't you bitch out the nurses this much, huh?"

"I have a policy of not fucking with medical staff when dependent on their services. Common sense, really."

Bulma scoffed and pulled the car into the Capsule compound's huge car port. Anger rising, she practically snatched the overstuffed duffel bag from the back seat and dumped it on the couch in the living room.

"Go sit down and I'll go get your stupid food! You pig!"

It didn't take long for the arguments to begin. There was one every single day, sometimes twice or even three times a day. Bulma usually managed to out-scream Vegeta and could occasionally silence him for a good thirty seconds, but Vegeta dished out sharp barbs, unbelievable profanity, and every once in a while he would say something so chilling that it left anybody within earshot with goosebumps.

He never seriously threatened to kill Bulma, nor did he ever physically harm any occupants of the compound. While Vegeta refused to physically engage with Bulma, it did little to stop Bulma from trying to egg him on to the point of a physical altercation, but he never gave in.

Vegeta spent only one night sleeping on the living room couch, as he said he would, before forcing himself to walk up the stairs early in the morning, newly repaired muscle and healing tendon limiting his speed and flexibility. It really hurt to walk. Even his abdominal muscles hurt by the time he made it to his bedroom.

Over the course of ten days, Vegeta did nothing but stretch and condition his body, hissing through the pinging ache of his healing joints and the burning ache of his muscles being properly engaged for the first time in a long while. He would grab onto door frames and perform a series of pull-ups, or use the patio railing as a balance beam.

Bulma decided that Vegeta was completely crazy. He could never be wholly reasoned with nor would he follow directions as ordered. They had been arguing constantly about the gravity simulator and battle drones; Bulma usually agreed to try making another powerful simulator, but her refusal to build it immediately and Vegeta's impatience with the entire situation led to daily clashes.

On the morning of the eleventh day, Mrs. Briefs came downstairs to find Vegeta laying on a foam mat in the living room with his knees inching towards his chest and toes pointed, drenched in sweat and panting through grit teeth. When the Saiyan heard the click of the matriarch's low heels against the floor, he curled his body up and rolled up to his feet, stifling a pained groan in the process.

"Good morning, honey. I'm going to get started on breakfast. Can I get you anything?"

"I'm going into the simulator to train in peace and quiet. Have breakfast ready in an hour," Vegeta rolled his aching shoulders and walked past Mrs. Briefs, heading out the sliding glass door to the backyard and into the simulator. If he could get to ten times Earth's normal gravity, it would be a satisfactory accomplishment for the day.

Mrs. Briefs watched as he climbed the staircase in his bare feet and sighed with worry when the door slammed behind him and the airlock engaged.


	51. The Oddest Feeling

Curled up underneath the thick, warm covers and body cradled by the luxurious mattress, Vegeta awoke to another morning of soft golden light slowly filling his room and glorious quiet. He yawned and flexed his toes, savouring the feeling of warm weight and total relaxation. The little black cat that usually hung out with the elder Briefs during the day had come to sleep at the end of his bed again, and Vegeta found, oddly enough, that he didn't mind having the animal around.

He yawned and sat up, stretched his arms, and swung his legs out of the bed. It was early enough that the humans hadn't woken up yet, and Vegeta planned to take advantage of it. He felt good and was ready to resume training. The argument he'd had with Bulma the night before had been so heated and nasty that Vegeta spent close to three hours in the simulator after it was over, pushing one hundred and ten times Earth's normal gravity. After those three hours, he'd stormed up to his bedroom, took a long soak in a very hot bath, and fell asleep within a minute of crawling into his bed.

Then the aching hit him. Almost every part of his body was still hurting and was still healing from his brutal accident. His skin had healed almost completely, and Vegeta had taken to applying anti-biotic creams and vitamin-infused lotions to limit the scarring, but his muscles and ligaments still weren't back to normal and he knew it would be a while before that happened. Although his fractured bones had appeared totally healed on x-rays, he still felt as though there were numerous weak spots in his skeleton.

Still, he made a point of training every single day. It angered Bulma, worried Bunny, left Dr. Briefs bemused, and whenever he encountered Yamcha they only exchanged mutual expressions of annoyance.

Once downstairs, he went straight to the kitchen to make coffee (he was capable of making a damn good cup of coffee by that point) and used the kitchen counter's edge as a makeshift barre to begin stretching his legs and warming up the muscles in his hips after the percolator was plugged in. He hated that he was still so stiff, so limited in his movements, and often in discomfort if not outright pain.

"Good morning, honey! Oh, you made coffee!" Mrs. Briefs entered the kitchen, hair pinned up and dressed in a full skirt and button-up shirt, already prepared for what certainly appeared to be a full day ahead. She fetched two mugs from the pantry and beamed at Vegeta when they made eye contact.

"Mm," Vegeta gradually lowered his right leg, red-faced over being caught doing something so _awkward_ , "you're dressed up."

"I'm going to a charity brunch today, so it's just the perfect opportunity to dress up a bit, isn't it?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and took a seat at the table.

"How are you feeling today? Your flexibility is impressive!"

He grunted and folded his arms across his chest.

"I know that feeling..." Mrs. Briefs prepared a mug of coffee the way her guest liked it, "I know that feeling very well. What are your plans?"

Vegeta's left brow rose and his lips tightened together for a brief moment. "What's it to you?" He took a small sip of hot coffee and kept his eyes locked on the woman's.

"Just wondering what sort of training schedule you've designed this time, Vegeta. You sure to work hard!"

"Not all of us can spend our mornings at charity events, now can we?"

"Well... you'd just have to find a cause you really feel connected to first," Mrs. Briefs replied immediately, her sweet smile never fading, "then you could see what the fund-raising events are all about!"

_Oh my God, she doesn't even realize I was being sarcastic. Idiot!_

"Like that would happen. Which cause do you support?"

"Today's event is for an organization that assists young people who are homeless, helping them find secure housing, employment, and education. If you had to find a "cause", what would it be, Vegeta?"

Although Vegeta couldn't explain to himself why he chose to actually mull over the woman's question, he spent a long minute thinking about it. Would he want to "fix" anything? Why should he help others? Why should he save or prevent something unfortunate or assist anybody? Life is hard, he told himself, it can be very long and very difficult, and the hardships begin early for most.

He suddenly recalled a terrifying moment: he was nine years old and had been sent to take part in a purge on a small planet with a small team of much older, powerful men, and the conditions had been brutal; hot and humid and terribly polluted, with air was so thick he could taste it. It made his healthy lungs ache. When a collection of locals to the planet congregated in a ruined city and managed to keep the soldiers at bay with sophisticated weaponry, the soldier in charge decided the best course of action was to simply pollute the only water source available to the small settlement after surrounding them.

The soldiers delegated the task of dumping decaying bodies into the shallow river to Vegeta, who gagged and vomited from the foul stench as he got to work. Some of the bodies were crawling with maggots, and after the work was over, he couldn't get the smell out of his clothes or off his skin.

With few supplies, the citizens who dared to drink the contaminated water soon grew ill and died, while the rest died from dehydration or opted to kill themselves. After three days of waiting, the last settlement on the planet was stormed and completely razed. Mission accomplished.

Vegeta left that mission as a different person. For him, it was a pivotal moment in his short, strange life, and he barely slept for weeks after reporting back to Frieza. Each time he shut his eyes, he saw a pair of milky, dead eyes staring up at him from a pool of putrid water. It took six months before the image started to fade away.

He made a false start before managing to give Mrs. Briefs her answer: "I don't think children should be used in combat operations."

He heard the woman's breath catch in her throat but kept staring at his mug of coffee.

"Oh, honey..."

He looked up and saw Mrs. Briefs with one hand to her mouth and her eyes wide with horror. After one more sip of coffee, Vegeta set his mug aside and left the room. He needed to get into the simulator before he started screaming.

* * *

Despite their loud, profanity-laden argument some six hours earlier, Bulma and Vegeta had opted to make up the best way: enthusiastic sex and time together without anybody else around to bother them. They'd gone to Vegeta's room after muttered comments about the clutter in Bulma's room threatened to spark another argument before they'd properly made up. They had the house to themselves and Vegeta took advantage of it- he really liked the way Bulma moaned and wanted to see if he could make her scream as well.

By that point in the relationship, they weren't always using condoms. They sometimes got a bit spontaneous and impulsive when it came to sex (a broom closet in the lab, or the roof on a starry evening) and neither of them made a point of carrying protection. Bulma did take a birth control pill, after all, and after receiving a clean bill of health, she decided that Vegeta really did have a clean bill of health.

"Damn, Vegeta! You're feeling generous tonight, aren't you? Can we take a breather?" Bulma had to push Vegeta's hands away from between her legs and lay back on his bed, sighing and giggling.

"I'm going to require a fresh change of sheets later," Vegeta rolled onto his side and dragged his fingertips up her abdomen, "you're _obviously_ enjoying this..."

They went quiet and Bulma gently touched the newly-healed skin on his shoulders. "Do you kiss, Vegeta?"

"I suppose."

"Um... have you ever kissed somebody?"

"Yes," he sighed, "I have."

"Don't be so serious, now," Bulma kissed his cheek and forehead, "just kiss me..."

Without thinking he wrapped arm around her and their lips seemed to lock together for one electrifying second before they broke apart. Mind still and quiet, he kissed her again, and he felt an incredible hot rush surge up his belly and into his chest when he did.

* * *

Two weeks passed by uneventfully. Vegeta saw the doctor, who remarked on the fact that he continued to make incredible progress, but gently warned him to use caution as well. He and Bulma had their arguments, but also had their passionate moments too.

One evening, the family opted to eat dinner out on the patio and Vegeta joined them, savouring the grilled lamb and potato salad along not just one, but two large glasses of red wine. It was wonderfully warm and a gentle breeze kept the air moving. For whatever reason, he felt quite talkative and spoke at length, laughing at some of the jokes the other diners made and also cracking plenty of his own. Over a light dessert of pistachio ice cream and tiny glasses of a pungent, peppery liqueur, Vegeta sat back in his chair, wonderfully relaxed and at ease with everything around him. There was great food, beautiful and luxurious surroundings, pleasant weather, and having a gorgeous woman around only enhanced what was so good.

Feet propped up on the wooden railing and watching the sun sink behind the mountains, Vegeta slowly came to the realization that he was experiencing the oddest feeling: genuine contentment.

When the Saiyan came to recognize that he was experiencing something that may very well be happiness, he went to internally chastise himself for letting his guard down before another part of his mind suggested that it may not be a bad thing to enjoy living for a while.

_That's one reason why you defected in the first place, after all. Just enjoy the moment and live in it. You never know when things will take another turn..._

* * *

Pacing the tiled bathroom floor and puffing nervously on a cigarette, Bulma forced herself to stop at the sink long enough to look at the pregnancy test one more time.

One line, not pregnant... but two lines, pregnant, she thought, grimacing when she picked up the slim strip of plastic and confirmed yet again that there really were two lines, bright and obvious and inescapable.

Erring on the side of caution, Bulma had picked up four different pregnancy tests over two days, and all of them produced positive results. She was pregnant. Her period had not started when she'd expected, and although stress did occasionally contribute to a delayed menstrual cycle in her case, after three weeks she was getting worried. Stomach in knots, Bulma forced herself to visit a drugstore.

After one final drag, Bulma threw the half-smoked cigarette into the toilet. Worried that Vegeta (or even worse, her mother) would spot the evidence, she made a point of disposing of them along with all the packaging in the kitchen garbage before covering them up with old newspapers and fruit peels.

What am I gonna do now, she thought, there's no easy way out of this, no matter what I do... and Vegeta's gonna flip out...


	52. Bombshell

After several hours of quiet deliberation with the bedroom door locked, Bulma decided she would keep the pregnancy secret for at least the first few weeks. Bulma spent at least an hour wondering if the potential child would be predisposed to any mental illnesses (she ruled out personality disorders on account of her ability to raise the child in a far superior environment) before deciding she wouldn't abort the pregnancy; now in her thirties she was becoming more serious about establishing a serious, long-term relationship and having a child of her own. She had always wanted to be a mother, and now she was at a stage in her life where things were finally beginning to settle down and she had a clear career objective. She could provide the child with a stable, safe, nurturing place to grow and explore, and Bulma certainly had the financial ability to take care of the child.

Not to mention, the child would have very loving grandparents.

I'll be just fine, she decided, assuming this pregnancy goes to term. Who knows, I may miscarry in the meantime...

One day into her self-imposed, strict nonsmoking policy, Bulma found herself thoughtlessly reaching for the half-pack of cigarettes on her bedside table. I don't know if I _can_ quit these, she thought, I've been smoking since I was fifteen!

She lit up and smoked in tense silence. Vegeta had spent much of the day training and was now heading upstairs to his room, presumably to shower and then watch a bit of television before dinner. Not only did Bulma know his general day-to-day routine, but she swore she could _feel_ him passing by her bedroom door, and she held her breath (and smoke) until she heard his door open and shut.

If I can't quit smoking, I will quit getting perms, she decided, it's time I got a new look anyway!

* * *

" _Whoa_ ," Vegeta ran his fingertips through Bulma's radically different hairstyle, "this is new..." he certainly hadn't expected to see the woman return from her trip to that damned "salon" with radically shorter hair. He liked the way the close-cropped style felt against his fingertips.

Bulma hadn't expected to see Vegeta walking across the compound, shirtless and sweating after a half hour run in underneath the hot sun. He'd stopped abruptly, frozen in place and eyes wide with surprise. It was if he didn't recognize her for several seconds.

"You like it? I thought it was time to go really short," Bulma flicked her bangs to the side, "girl's gotta keep her style fresh, after all!"

He let out an uneasy laugh and pulled away to look her over once more, trying to get used to the hair. He'd heard the word "cute" before, and realized it would be a fair adjective for how she looked. She'd gone through at least three different hairstyles during the time that he'd known her, which struck him as very strange indeed since Saiyans almost always grew their hair out to its full length and rarely cut it unless necessary. He had vague memories of some Saiyans twisting their hair into luxurious braids or wrapping their hair in bands of colourful fabric, but he had only ever seen a small percentage of humans with anything similar. Many humans seemed intent on altering their hair through cutting it or letting it grow out, colouring it, enduring painful chemical processes, and it struck him as just odd.

"I... see..." he replied many seconds later, "well, it's better than what you had before."

"Oh, gee, thanks," she rolled her eyes and self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair again, "it just happens to be very chic, you know!"

"Alright, then," Vegeta shrugged and his attention soon turned to an approaching Dr. Briefs, "whatever that entails..."

"Finish your run, my boy? I was wondering if you'd be willing to lend me a hand in my shop for a few minutes."

"Tell me what it involves on the way there," he went to the elder Briefs' side and motioned for him to lead the way without saying another word to the woman.

Although Bulma was used to awkward interactions with Vegeta, that particular interaction left her feeling very uneasy. She went inside and straight to the nearest bathroom mirror to inspect her new hairstyle in privacy.

* * *

Six weeks passed before some of the symptoms of pregnancy became more noticeable to those around Bulma; she started taking naps every day, ate more at every meal, and often vomited in the morning hours.

Early one morning, Bulma agreed to inspect the electrical system inside the simulator after Vegeta grew suspicious there was something burning. He swore he could smell something, and after ten minutes of running diagnostic tests, Bulma realized that some of the wiring had come loose and exposed after heavy usage, and some of the circuit boards were showing signs of overheating.

"The nose knows, doesn't it? Hate to say it, big guy, but the simulator's gonna be out of commission for a few days. It should be a fairly routine repair, but it's gonna take at least three days. Look, I know that having a serious conversation is the last thing you wanna do right now, but we've gotta talk about this simulator and the constant issues it's experiencing..."

"Mmhm," Vegeta rolled his eyes, "that's what I suspected anyway... we _do_ have to talk about how often this simulator breaks down."

"Easy now," Bulma raised her hands slightly and kept her voice low and slow, "I know you're ticked about this. I'm not pleased eith-"

"Oh. So we're both pissed off..." he scoffed, picking at a fingernail.

"Look, Vegeta, I think this ship's design can't handle the extreme power of the simulator. There's always things coming loose, breaking apart, or in need of inspection every few weeks because of the wear-and-tear. Now before you jump to any conclusion, I've already come up with a solution to this problem..."

"And that is?" His voice was developing an edge of annoyance, threatening to turn into anger.

"The simulator needs to be housed in a room, rather than in its own freestanding structure. I'm thinking that one of the back rooms of the house could be turned into a highly reinforced gravity room for you to train in. Granted, it would take at least six weeks to construct..."

He shrugged. It sounded like a fine idea. It was a very logical course of action all things considered. "Alright, I accept that plan. And in the meantime?"

"I will repair your current simulator, but you'll no longer be able to go up to five hundred G. This ship literally can't handle the pressure changes and that's why it keeps needing repair. The most it can really take is up to four hundred G's, and even that's causing some issues... so I wouldn't go over three-fifty. Yeah, it'll mean you're gonna be training at a lower intensity for a while, but th-" she gagged suddenly and clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes darting around as she frantically searched for a sink or trash can.

"Fuck, again?" Vegeta opened the door to the simulator and had just enough time to guide the woman outside before she vomited over the side of the railing, the Saiyan keeping his hands on her upper arms to support her. He couldn't place it, but something was going on with the woman's physical condition and it was beginning to concern him. Bulma absolutely needed to create a gravity room for him and she needed to get started right away.

"What's going on with you? You've been throwing up every day or damn near close to it."

"I think I got food poisoning from some bad take-out," she lied, "it's been making my insides churn like a washing machine for a week..."

Vegeta laughed at her bizarre analogy and guided her down the stairs, "that's something I'm familiar with. Did I ever tell you about the time I wound up with a ten foot long tapeworm in my gut?"

"Ewww," she moaned, "don't even start..."

Three days later, when Bulma ran to the washroom during breakfast, Vegeta knew the woman didn't have food poisoning. Something was going on and she refused to tell him the truth, so he'd just have to get to the bottom of it himself. He would make her tell him the truth.

That night, when the two of them lounged in the living room and watched a gruesome documentary about a serial killer, Vegeta noticed that Bulma's abdomen seemed a bit swollen. Had she put on some weight? The tight spaghetti strap top she'd worn plenty of times before suddenly looked different. Something was different but not being able to figure out what had changed was beginning to irritate him.

She hiccoughed and rested a hand on her swollen stomach, as if instinctively protecting something.

Where had he seen that motion before? I've seen women doing that thing before, he thought, but where? What does it mean?

The program cut to a commercial break. An advertisement for a sports car started, and Vegeta looked the woman over one more time before working up the nerve to question her.

"You don't have food poisoning," he began, "not with the way you carry on eating these days... but something is going on... and you'd best tell me what's happening, because I despise being lied to."

Bulma felt her blood run cold. Busted. I shouldn't have worn this top, she chastised herself and adjusted the straps of her top, very aware of how her swollen breasts and stomach appeared.

"Um, Vegeta..." she sat up and mentally braced herself, worrying Vegeta may soon attack her, "I'm... well, I'm not sick. Um..."

His mood switched from cautious curiosity to irritation in a split second, and his voice rose slightly as he said: "then what is it, woman? Get on with it."

"I'm pregnant, Vegeta," a fat tear rolled down her cheek, "about nine weeks along..."

The Saiyan felt his mouth suddenly grow very dry and a huge, sick lump of horror and fury suddenly appeared somewhere behind his breastbone. He couldn't bear to look at her, crying and her hands over her belly, and searched for a response.

Finally: "you told me you were on birth control."

"I w-was, but it doesn't always work..."

"You told me the condoms would also prevent this kind of thing," his voice was deadpan, eyes blank. His mouth had pressed into a thin, pale line.

"We didn't always use them, Vegeta..."

" _You_ said pregnancy wasn't an issue! _You_ said that's why we do that "doubling up" shit!" His voice did not rise, but it grew edgier and angrier with every syllable.

"And I'm telling you now that we didn't always double up and that's why I'm pregnant! Neither method is effective 100 percent of the time, Vegeta!"

"Then fucking terminate it. I don't want a kid," he scoffed, "and I'm not willing to raise it."

"Maybe you don't want to become a parent, Vegeta, but I do! And if you don't want any part in raising the child, so be it. I respect your wishes and all I ask is that you respect mine in turn."

"Good luck with that," he rose from the couch and stormed into the kitchen. Bulma heard the refrigerator opening and shutting. The hiss of a can opening. Beer, she thought, now that he's angry. He stormed back into the living room and stared at Bulma for several seconds, eyes narrow and dark and very cold.

"Vegeta..." Bulma slowly rose from the couch, grimacing from the heartburn rising up her throat, "please, don't be angry. I'm not upset!"

Vegeta was soon face to face with her, and it took all of Bulma's strength not to recoil. They were maybe ten inches apart.

"Of course you aren't upset, because your plan's worked out splendidly, hasn't it? I've got you all figured out, bitch," he paused to take a long sip of beer, "you think I'm getting all mellowed out and relaxed and _integrated_ into your culture, so much so that you decided to trap me here by having a child! Because you're idiotic enough to think I'll be more than happy just to settle down and become domesticated, isn't it? God damn, I wouldn't be surprised if your fucking mother is in on this too! Now that I'm halfway used to you people, you think I'm going to become just like Kakarot and pretend to be a happy little human every single day! That will never fucking happen! I am never going to be like you! _Never_!"

"I'm not trying to trap you! Oh my God, Vegeta, are you serious?"

"I'm not gonna fall for your scheme, woman! If you want the kid, fine, but I sure as hell don't! My purpose here is to train, ascend to the legendary Super Saiyan, destroy the fucking robots, and then I'll be free to do _whatever_ I want."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have any place to train! The simulator, the housing, the food, the clothing, all the medical care? I'm the one who invited you to live here, and I even welcomed you back after you took off for more than a goddamn year! You're the biggest fucking freeloader I've ever met! Of course you won't raise the child! I'm not surprised by _that_ at all! Raising a child requires you to put the wants and needs of others before your own, which you've obviously _never_ done!"

Vegeta said nothing. He only stared at her, face cold and blank, and exhaled very loudly through his nostrils. "I had actually intended to protect you and your family during the predicted attacks, but since you view me as a freeloader, I rescind that intention. You and your family and the fucking half-breed you're carrying can die for all I care. Fix the goddamn simulator and tell me when it's done, and get started on that room. Other than that, I want _nothing_ to do with you."

"And why should I? Huh? After all your ungrateful tantrums?"

The Saiyan grasped Bulma's chin between his thumb and forefinger, immobilizing her head, and leaned in until they were nose to nose. She could smell beer on his breath and it made her a little nauseous. "Because if you don't, I'm going to start hurting people, you little cunt. Now get to work."

Bulma whimpered with fear, and she spotted the right side of Vegeta's mouth twitching into a grim smirk for a half second before he stepped away and headed out of the room. All of two seconds later, she heard his bedroom door slamming with such intensity that wood had certainly splintered.

Glass breaking. Something heavy dragging across the floor and then a very loud thump.

Silence.

She sunk back down onto the couch and started sobbing, all alone in the house with the infuriated Saiyan upstairs and locked up in his bedroom. He wasn't going to hurt her, she knew, but if she didn't do as he wished things would get ugly fast.

In between a rock and a hard place, she thought, with no easy way out...


	53. No Split-Second Decision

Eyes swollen and head aching from sobbing, Bulma had managed to collect herself just enough to make a cup of tea and took a seat at the kitchen table, taking tiny sips of the hot liquid and finding herself grateful for its soothing abilities, however subtle at that moment.

When her mother and father returned from their evening out, it took all of the woman's strength to refrain from crying again and come clean.

"Why, Bulma! You look so upset, what's wrong? Did you and Vegeta have another disagreement?" Mrs. Briefs came into the kitchen, low heels clicking against the tile and her full skirt swinging gently as she approached. She took a seat beside her daughter, waiting to hear about the latest argument.

She managed to nod weakly and sighed. "We had a disagreement, alright. Mom... um... I'm pregnant."

Upstairs, Vegeta swore he heard the older woman suck in her breath before there was a sort of holler.

Oh, so they did plan this, he thought, they're fucking with me. This is their way of trying to trap and tame me...

Downstairs, Mrs. Briefs felt her blood pressure rising and her heart beating high up into her throat. She just couldn't believe her daughter was pregnant to begin with, let alone after getting involved with an alien who had near-uncontrollable violent tendencies and few social skills. On the other hand, she was going to become a grandmother and the idea of having another baby in the house excited her.

She managed to sit back down and looked her daughter over. "He didn't respond the way you would have liked, did he?"

"Definitely not," sighed Bulma, "he didn't break anything or get violent but that was the angriest I've ever seen him. I may as well have told him that I'd killed his entire fam-" she broke off and realized just what she had said, "um, he was furious. He doesn't want anything to do with this."

The older woman shook her head and clicked with tongue with disapproval. "I hope you told him that he should step up and be responsible."

"He said this was my fault, Mom. Underneath that weird charm he can exude, there's such a narcissistic, mean creature. That said, I want this child. You know that Gohan is half Saiyan as well, right Mom? And Gohan is quite different than his father, so I think this child won't have a ton in common with his father if I do my part to raise him or her well. My figuring is this: I'm in my thirties, well-off, I enjoy my work, and I genuinely want to be a mother. I just hope that you and Dad will support me..."

"Of course we will, Bulma. And, by the looks of your belly, you're due to change up your wardrobe! We could go out tomorrow for a few things, if you'd like."

Bulma rubbed her stomach and sighed. "Is it really that noticeable?"

Mrs. Briefs gave a slow, cautious nod, and Bulma responded by sighing and rubbing her stomach once more.

* * *

After falling asleep just after eleven in the evening, not much longer after he'd heard the two human women downstairs, Vegeta awoke again at four in the morning, still very angry and unsure of how to handle it.

As much as I'd love to tear the woman's face off, I have to cooperate if I want that gravity room, he thought, so I need to play their game for the time being. Even if I'm not interested in this kid, I'd best flatter them and let them believe I'm going to raise it...

He went downstairs and found himself in the kitchen, not really sure why he chose to enter that specific room but deciding it would do. He needed to think in peace and quiet, and with the humans asleep it gave him the opportunity to be alone as he could manage in the situation.

After briefly entertaining the idea of taking off in the simulator before anybody woke up, Vegeta decided he was too tired to do much of anything and instead chose to remain fixed in his seat, silently brooding and contemplating his fate. Now is not the time to make a split-second decision, he thought, not with so much at stake. The gravity room could be just what I need to realize the legend...

Where am I going to be five years from now, he wondered, things have changed so radically in the last two or three years alone, I'm not certain I can take any more surprises...

At five in the morning, Mrs. Briefs awoke early, still reeling from the news of her daughter's unintended pregnancy. She hadn't slept well at all, her mind swimming in a deep sea of questions and what-if scenarios.

Mrs. Briefs entered the dim kitchen just wanting a cup of tea, certainly not expecting to see the Saiyan sitting at the table with his hands resting on the tabletop, fingers intertwined. In the shadowy room, the woman could only make out the most basic features on his face, and although she couldn't see his eyes she knew they were angry and staring right at her. She could feel his stare boring through her body.

It was the first time Mrs. Briefs had felt a true stab of fear run through her body when around the strange man, and she knew then that all the vague rumours and whispered comments were true: he could be very dangerous, uncontrollable, and certainly unreasonable.

Other times, he only appeared uncontrollable and unreasonable, but was eerily calm and diplomatic. He was quick witted and eloquent, acerbic and especially argumentative, and it all made for a terrifying combination when he was angry. Even if he didn't become physically destructive or aggressive, the energy in the room would shift to an uncomfortable pitch.

With her back already to the glowering Saiyan, Mrs. Briefs continued on filling the kettle and set it on the front burner. It had become an unspoken rule that nobody made sudden movements around the Saiyan, who was easy to startle and quick to defend himself. "Would you like a cup of tea," she managed to whisper, voice cracking as it rose at the end of her question.

"We need to talk," he responded, voice very deep and cold.

All was silent until the water boiled and she made two mugs of strong tea with some extra milk and sugar. Heart pounding and legs wanting to break into a run for her life, Mrs. Briefs forced herself to take the seat adjacent to the Saiyan's and set his cup in front of him.

"She's pregnant," he started, "as you already know."

"Yes..." the woman took a shallow sip of her hot tea, "a bit unexpected."

He sneered. "I don't want the kid."

"As you have established with her..."

Vegeta took a sip of his tea and was surprised at how full-bodied it was. It felt like he was being slapped into a new degree of awareness as he swallowed the hot liquid. "I'm going to make a proposal. I approach you first as Bulma and I are not on speaking terms. I approach you because you're a woman, and therefore I'd led to believe you'll know far more about pregnancy than the old man. My offer is this: I will make a point of guiding the child through their growth spurts and adolescence. You humans are clueless when it comes to handling the Saiyan temperament, which grows especially volatile beginning around age ten. Saiyans need stimulation, challenges, and discipline. Unless the child is raised in a well-structured environment with a great amount of discipline, a consistent routine, and the opportunity to properly channel their aggression, your lives are at risk. That child is going to be incredibly strong, very fucking intelligent, and there's a good chance my temperament will also be inherited. You will all be out of your league. Whether I like it or not, I understand my presence is required on this planet for some time... and it's not as though I have many places to go right now."

Mrs. Briefs only nodded. She was impressed that he seemed to "get" the implications of having a child and his role as a father, and he was mature enough to put his own feelings aside.

What she couldn't wrap her head around was the fact that her grandchild wouldn't be fully human. What else would the child inherit from the father? His temperament and a predisposition to anxiety and unstable moods, or perhaps the child would grow up to be compact and powerfully built, with intense eyes, a husky voice, and a mouth full of fearsome, gleaming teeth.

"You want something in return for this," she offered, "I'm open to listening."

"Housing. Food. Training facilities. Clothing. Privacy. A stipend of money that I shall save or spend at my own discretion, and absolutely nobody else can access it for any reason, even if I die. I will establish now that I am not going to be involved with the child's education or activities, but I will be taking the child to train and so I can ensure their behaviour is to a standard both the woman and I can agree on."

The woman nodded again, silently agreeing to his terms. "You will have to discuss with this Bulma at a later date, when you've both had a chance to cool off. She'll come around."

Vegeta's face hardened. "Absolutely not. That bitch did this to me on purpose, and I still think you had something to do with this."

"She hid the pregnancy from me too. So if I'd been "in on" some scheme, wouldn't she have told me as soon as possible?"

The Saiyan slowly leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his chest, looked up and the ceiling, and hissed through his teeth for several seconds. He hated to admit it, but Mrs. Briefs was correct. "Fuck."

"I think your proposal is perfectly fair, so I support you."

He remained slouched in the chair, eyes up at the ceiling. "Why are you so nice to me? I'm fucking horrible."

"If you're so horrible, then why are you concerned with your future child?"

"That's purely my business, woman," he straightened his back and sighed, "and you didn't answer my question."

"Perhaps I just want my grandchild to have his or her father in their life, even if its not the majority of the time, so I choose to be just as diplomatic as you are being in this discussion. I also listen to you, Vegeta, and not out of forced courtesy. You don't have to "become" like us, but we both see why you need to be here for the next while, and so I see that we're going to have to maintain open communication and some degree of friendliness in order for this to work."

In the dim light, the woman could see the corners of the Saiyan's mouth hinting at turning up as his fingers dug into his crossed arms. "Perhaps it is you who has demonstrated superior skills as a negotiator. I am impressed. Very well, woman, we have an agreement for now. Should my terms change, I will speak with you again."

Mrs. Briefs beamed at Vegeta, cooed in her high voice, and rose out of her seat to turn on the lights and pull a covered cake stand out of the refrigerator. "Well, with that out of the way, can I interest you in some chocolate cake?"

* * *

Two weeks later, after avoiding the woman as best he could, Vegeta stopped at Bulma's bedroom door and knocked three times, firm and forceful. He'd exhausted himself in the simulator, knowing it was one of the safest ways to get the anger out of his system before he would be forced to behave diplomatically.

"What?" Bulma's voice was ice.

"Open the door, you stupid woman! Or shall I just enter of my own accord?"

"Ugh, just come in..."

Vegeta opened the door and could Bulma laying on her bed, her swollen feet propped up and a pillow supporting her lower back. She'd gotten a bit bigger; her belly was becoming rounder and her breasts were fuller, and there was a new softness to her face.

"What do you want, Vegeta? I put in four hours on the damn simulator today, so don't even think about ordering me around! My feet are swollen and hurt like hell. I am _not_ getting out of this bed."

"Oh, shut up! That's not why I'm here at all- actually, I came here because your mother is a frighteningly good negotiator."

"What?"

"Your mother and I spoke not long after you dropped that bombshell. I told her that I'm willing to be present if only to provide training and keep the brat's behaviour in line once it approaches adolescence, and in return I am going to live here on this premises but within my own quarters."

"Assuming I even want you to be a part of the child's life, Vegeta. And assuming we actually want you living with us..."

"Suit yourself, bitch," he shrugged and left the room.

Bulma buried her face in her hands and started to cry. What will my life be like in five years, she wondered, if he stays around and we're constantly arguing? There's no way this is going to work!

* * *

A few weeks passed, and when Vegeta recognized the shiny baubles the humans called "Christmas decorations", he waited until everybody was asleep before he started packing two large gym bags with clothing, medications he'd kept stashed in the back of his closet, the two ghost cards (he'd slipped them into an envelope, worried he would misplace them), three sets of the battle clothing and armour the humans had created for him, the scouters he'd stolen the last time he'd gone into PTO territory, the collection of rations he'd held on to, and quietly placed his packed bags in the living area of the simulator.

Once again, Vegeta took several bottles of alcohol from Dr. Briefs' home bar and stashed them away in the simulator. He knew that Bulma and her father smoked the same brand of cigarettes and so they purchased them in bulk, and after a few minutes of silent searching he found a nearly-full carton in Bulma's bedroom, making a point of hovering several inches above the floor and keeping a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle the sound of his breathing. When the woman didn't stir once, a smirk spread across his face.

Between shopping for something called "maternity clothing", constant visitors who cooed over her growing belly and presented her with gifts, her obligations at work, and the increased need for food and rest, Bulma still hadn't completed his gravity room, and Vegeta felt his resentment growing by the hour.

They hadn't slept together for several weeks, and were barely on speaking terms. Vegeta made a point of ignoring the woman unless he absolutely needed her, and Bulma made a point of insulting him whenever the opportunity arose. They'd made a point of taking their meals in different room- Vegeta usually took his meals in his bedroom.

When he'd screamed at her about the lack of progress, Bulma called him a monster, Mrs. Briefs tried to gently remind him that screaming wouldn't accomplish anything (and that screaming at pregnant women was considered a major faux-pas), and Dr. Briefs only shook his head with obvious disapproval. Like Bulma, the old man had made a point of avoiding the Saiyan unless it was necessary for them to speak, and their conversations were very stilted and awkward. The old man couldn't even look Vegeta in the eye for more a few seconds.

I am a monster, he told himself, and nobody will ever tame my nature. If the humans refuse to invest the time needed to complete the gravity room so I can train, then I will simply have to train elsewhere, free of distractions.

Vegeta didn't leave right away. He exited the simulator around eight in the morning, after mapping his coordinates and determining which planets and stations he'd visit, and went inside to have breakfast, eating quietly and not really listening to the lighthearted conversation. When Bulma spotted the Saiyan eating breakfast, she took a seat across from him and cleared her throat.

"Hey. I wanna show you what's going on with the gravity room later today. Say, six in the evening?"

"Whatever," he said through a mouthful of English muffin, "six it is. I'm going to train," he rose from his seat, downed the last of his coffee, trying to ignore the realization that it may very well be the last cup of coffee he'd ever drink, and went to the simulator.

After spending an hour in tense silence, Vegeta initiated a countdown and awaited liftoff.

Three days passed before Vegeta received any communications from Earth, and it roused him out of a heavy sleep. The first to call was Bulma, her cheeks streaked with tears and her bloodshot eyes hot with rage. Vegeta had reluctantly accepted the call, knowing he couldn't turn off the holographic screen that would project itself in front of him unless he disconnected. Bulma began her call with the sort of language he usually expected out of his own mouth: "you fucking piece of shit, no-good asshole! You left again! How could you do this to me?!"

Vegeta let out a slow, hissing sigh and stared back at the woman with equally venomous intensity. "I left because you and your ridiculous family and that fucking house are fucking with my head and I'm not making any fucking progress! I fucking stagnated for close to two years thanks to you! You took advantage of me! You conniving whore! I _loathe_ you!"

"You took advantage of me and my family and my friends, you dick! I offered you a place to stay because you literally have nowhere else to go, and I felt so sorry for you! We all went out of our way to give you had everything you could ever want, and to show how grateful you were, you treated everybody around you like crap!"

"Oh, fuck off! As if you're any better!"

"I don't go around smashing shit or screaming at people! I take responsibility for my actions!"

"If you took responsibility for your actions you wouldn't be pregnant, you dumb cunt!"

"Ha! That's rich! You're the one who ran off into space again, while I'm getting ready to bring our child into the world! Vegeta, your narcissism and complete lack of respect for anything and anybody around you is really astounding. How can you go through your life with such nastiness, huh? Merry Christmas, asshole."

The Saiyan sneered at her, teeth bared, and looked over at the disconnect button. He was done with the woman. "Good bye," he snarled, slamming his hand on the button.

His first stop, Gyinn, was approaching. There was significant PTO presence on the tiny planet. It was time to prepare.

He went to his tiny washroom, washed his face with cool water, and slipped into his blue thermal gear and into the armour he'd grown to miss. When soft white leather enclosed his hands, Vegeta took a slow, low, deep breath and when he exhaled he felt like his old self.

It had been so long. Too long, in fact. It was time.


	54. Old Feelings, New Circumstances

When he snapped back into awareness, the first thing Vegeta noticed was that there were a lot of dead bodies strewn about the station he had attacked. As he had disembarked his ship after landing on the planet called Gyinn, the Saiyan felt as though he was losing himself second by second, and the moment blood was spilled all of his awareness and his conscience was completely gone.

"Oh. I guess it's over," his voice wavered as he made his way down the station's main corridor and felt as though every muscle was tingling, "wow..."

He stumbled into a locker room, kicked a headless body out of the way, and then found himself standing in front of a mirror. Vegeta was covered in blood; it matted down his hair and was caked on his cheeks, his clothing soaked through and armour smeared with fat streaks of red.

When Vegeta noticed how bright and glassy his eyes were, he broke into a raspy cackle and leaned in closer to the mirror to further inspect his appearance. For several minutes, Vegeta stared at himself in the mirror, feeling as though he was reconnecting with his old self.

I missed myself, he thought, searching for the nearest, relatively clean shower.

After a long, hot shower, Vegeta tip-toed across the tiles, careful to avoid any blood that may have oozed into the area, and changed into fresh clothing and armour. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to have a good meal and get some rest.

How long was I out for, he wondered as he dressed and felt himself coming down from his strange state of awareness, I don't remember anything after the landing...

Vegeta had been so angry after that call from that awful woman, that he had actively planned to attack the nearest station upon landing on Gyinn. If he took out one major station, chances were high that communications across the planet would be severely disrupted, and so far his plan seemed to be working. All the display screens and computers (the ones that remained intact, anyway) had gone blank or flashed an error message.

He wandered over to the station's mess hall and took the time to eat well and truly satisfy his massive appetite before locating the available rations. I'll get these later, he decided, it's time for rest. Sooner or later more soldiers will come this way to figure out what the hell happened...

Reclining in a high-backed chair near a huge control panel, Vegeta shut his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

He was laying back on a huge fur-covered mattress, very aware that he was feeling aroused and not so sure of where he was.

The air smelled good; it was hazy and warm with the smell of exotic flowers and incense, and when Vegeta sat up he found himself being pinned back down onto the mattress by a pair of calloused hands. He smirked and reached upward, fingers brushing against thick, oily hair and hot skin.

"Hey now," a tongue darted out and ran along his collarbone, "no sitting up... I wanna fuck you," it continued on down his belly and suddenly there was warmth and wetness around that sensitive area between his legs.

Vegeta went to speak and from his mouth came a high pitched wail, oscillating between an uncomfortable interval and seemingly getting louder by the second.

The Saiyan snapped back to consciousness and realized that soldiers from another station were approaching the scene of his violence.

"Damn!" All his arousal vanished in an instant and he internally chastised himself for almost-longing for the days when he'd had sex with Bulma on a regular basis. You're back to work, he thought, take care of business before attending to your dick.

He sighed, pulled on his gloves, and went outside to greet the approaching soldiers.

"Let's see here," he scanned the diverse mass of soldiers less than one hundred metres away, their weapons drawn and ready to fire, "average schlubs... well, this isn't very challenging. Alright..." he sighed and slid back into that familiar state he associated with killing, and proceeded to approach.

He jumped high into the air. To nearly all of the soldiers watching their lone target, it was as though he had vanished midair. Where would he reappear?

"Oh, fuck!" A tall, slender, and certainly young soldier screamed when he found himself eye to eye with the infamous, dangerous Saiyan called Vegeta. Those steely, icy eyes would be the last thing he'd ever see.

"Good answer!" Vegeta drove a fist into the young soldier's armoured chest, his blow powerful enough to throw the heart into a deadly arrhythmia the instant it was hit with by the crushing force. As the convulsing soldier dropped to the ground, the Saiyan moved on to the next soldier in line.

He lost track of time, consumed in his destruction and revelling in every moment. The fight wasn't very challenging, but it was an amusing one, especially when many of the soldiers recognized what they were up against and chose to run away, screaming for backup through their scouters. Vegeta chased after them, blowing them down with casual blasts of energy and effortless dive-bombs, breaking their spines from behind with a knee or heels.

After the second group of soldiers, nobody else came. The air and barren land grew very quiet, the distant sun began to sink behind a lonely range of low mountains, and Vegeta decided he'd go back to the station to clean up, eat, and get some more sleep before taking off.

Gyinn had been a huge disappointment, and Vegeta knew he had to take off at first light. He was wasting his time and energy on the desolate little planet, and there were greater challenges and battles to seek in PTO territory.

The anger had finally subsided for Bulma, after being devastated by Vegeta's sudden departure she was depressed and furious for two full weeks before coming to the realization that she really didn't need him, and she convinced herself that she didn't miss his company, either.

Shopping for maternity wear had done her good, and she was pleased with her comfortable selections and how she looked in them. She actually had trouble deciding what to wear, and that dilemma actually cheered Bulma up.

It had been a while since she had seen Yamcha, and Bulma decided that he would be the first friend she would tell about the pregnancy. Of all her friends, Bulma actually trusted Yamcha the most. He'd moved into his own apartment a few months before Bulma had become pregnant, and he was certainly out of the loop when it came to her situation with that Saiyan.

She called him in the early evening, when she knew he would most likely be at home, and suggested they meet for dinner.

"Is Vegeta coming?" Yamcha asked, voice quiet through the phone.

Bulma hissed. "He is definitely not coming, Yamcha."

"Good. So what were you thinking, Bulma? Personally, I could go for some sushi..."

"No!" She blurted out, "I mean, nah, I'm not feeling like fish tonight. Hey, how about pizza? I could totally go for pizza."

"How about Madre's? They make the best deep dish tomato pizza. Can I pick you up at six thirty?"

"Six thirty it is, then. You can show up early, if you want... I'm really hungry..."

After disconnecting, Bulma went to the kitchen and began eating chunks of cantaloupe from a glass container. Her appetite had become even bigger than usual several days prior and showed no signs of subsiding. When Yamcha showed up at six twenty, Bulma had already eaten the entire container of cantaloupe and was halfway through a box of cheese-flavoured crackers when her mother answered the door.

She pulled on a loose black cardigan, aiming cover what her knee-length kelly green dress failed to conceal, and went to meet Yamcha.

"Finally! I'm starving, Yamcha!" She pulled herself into his car, stifling a groan when she felt the increasing weight in her belly radiating through her lower back as she moved.

He laughed and started the engine, slowly pulling out of the main driveway and merging back into traffic while trying his best not to look at Bulma. Something was very different about her, but he couldn't pinpoint just what it was.

"You look great, Bulma," he glanced at her once traffic was moving at a steady pace, admiring her radiant skin and glossy hair.

"Mm, thanks," she muttered turned her head away, gazing out the window at a billboard advertising new condominiums for sale in the downtown core of West City.

They were quiet for many minutes, and Yamcha attempted to fill the silence by turning on the radio and switching to a classic rock station. Bulma sighed and turned the radio to a classical music program.

"So... how's Vegeta?" Yamcha tried at conversation again, despite his worry that he would somehow annoy Bulma.

Bulma hissed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, he was just fine and dandy last time I spoke to him. That piece of shit ran off again."

"We don't need Vegeta. He's an asshole, Bulma. Forget about him."

"It's not so easy..."

"Oh, come on, Bulma. Don't get like that. He isn't worth the energy you're wasting by being so upset."

She waited until they had pulled into the restaurant parking lot before breaking the silence. "Well, I'm pregnant."

Yamcha was grateful his vehicle had come to a complete stop. "You're what?!"

"I'm pregnant. Knocked up. Bun in the oven. Eating for tw-"

"I get it! I'm not totally dumb, Bulma. Just... well... I suppose we both know who the father is..."

She hissed again. "Yeah..."

Still in a state of shock, Yamcha managed to sit down in their chosen booth and ordered a cheese and tomato pizza while Bulma went for a white pizza with caramelized onions, and after thirty seconds of deliberation they agreed to order two pounds of hot wings with ranch dip. As they waited for their food to arrive, they kept the conversation very light: the weather, the traffic, weekend plans.

"Mm, unhealthy..." Bulma took her first bite of a juicy chicken wing and hummed, content with the delicious food.

"How far along are you, anyway?" It felt like such a strange thing to ask, but Yamcha couldn't help himself.

"Oh, about five months? My appetite's been crazy lately," Bulma stopped to practically inhale a slice of pizza, "can't seem t'get enough! I'm going for a sonogram later this week. Been visiting doctors quite a bit, obviously, but now I'm far enough into this pregnancy to get a real good look at what's going on inside. And before you ask, I don't know the gender, nor do I want to. It'll be a surprise."

Yamcha sucked on a chicken bone, feeling the spread of cayenne pepper sauce through his chest. "And how is the father taking all of this?"

Bulma didn't answer right away, far more interested in the food. She'd already eaten half of her pizza and close to a pound of wings, but the food didn't even seem to register in her stomach or her brain. Finally, after searching for the right words, she decided to be honest: "Vegeta took off a few weeks ago. To say he was pissed off by this would be a massive understatement. I don't know if he'll ever come back, and quite frankly, Yamcha, I don't care either. The only thing he contributed to the house was lots of laundry, dirty dishes, and damage to the house or its contents, so it's no wonder he flipped out at the idea of raising the child he helped create."

Yamcha shifted in his chair, very uncomfortable with what he was hearing. He had forced himself to accept the fact that his ex-girlfriend and the Saiyan had pursued a consensual physical relationship, even though it left him feeling equal parts disgusted and heartbroken. But worse than the physical relationship, at least for Yamcha, was seeing the two of them spending hours together, sometimes engaged in conversation and other times contentedly silent. A deep spot within him was hurt and jealous whenever he saw the two of them together.

Now his ex-girlfriend was pregnant, the father had taken off for places unknown, and that spot that had ached with jealousy now ached with sadness. It was all enough to make his head start spinning.

"Hey, Yamcha?" Bulma practically demolished her final slice of pizza.

Yamcha shook his head and snapped back into real-time. "Yeah? What is it, Bulma?"

"We need to order more food, right now. My appetite's practically inhuman these days. Whad'dya think sounds better: the carbonara, or a T-bone steak? Really, I could go for both..."


	55. No Heroics

With her t-shirt pulled over her growing belly and fingertips pressing into her aching lower back, Bulma studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, and after a long minute, she heaved a sigh and shuffled back to her bed. Bulma really couldn't believe she was nearly seven months pregnant, into the third trimester and so obviously pregnant that coworkers often couldn't stop themselves before questions rolled out of their mouths.

She had told more than one co-worker to "fuck off" when they asked about her plans, or worse yet, where or even who the father was.

Never had she expected pregnancy to be so physically and mentally taxing. Some days were wonderful; she felt great, admired her bright complexion in the mirror, and was very cheerful, while other days she was exhausted and almost sick, felt unattractive, and was prone to short bursts of crying. Her appetite had mutated into one that seemed to match if not occasionally exceed Vegeta's; she ate and snacked constantly. Much to her surprise and relief, worrying about the overall effect of her monstrous food binges, she had slowly gained thirty five pounds and maintained muscle definition on her arms, back, and lower legs. She was grateful for the support her friends (the ones who knew, anyway) and family gave her unconditionally- there was no way she could do it alone.

"Damn, baby," she rubbed the swollen bump, "you are getting big and unwieldy and you are giving me heartburn..."

A few firm kicks from inside her were enough to make her wince.

This is getting real, she thought, this baby will be making its entrance in a matter of weeks now. Am I ready to do this? At least Mom and Dad are getting excited... I'm just getting scared.

"What am I even gonna call you? Your father certainly isn't about to have any input..."

She reached for the pack of cigarettes on her bedside table and stopped herself before she lit her first cigarette of the day.

"Hmm... maybe I should see how long I can go without smoking..."

She set the unlit cigarette in an ashtray and sighed. So far all imaging and tests had shown she was going to have a perfectly healthy, beautiful baby... that just happened to come with looked like a tail, although one ultrasound technician swore that there was something wrong with his machine and apologized profusely after the examination.

Bulma's stomach rumbled, she groaned, and pushed herself off the bed. It was time to raid the fridge again, and maybe even order in something too. She had a craving for curry noodles with barbecue pork...

* * *

Mouth full of wonderfully oily noodles and back pressed into the wall, Vegeta watched diners coming and going, his mind a curious blank at that moment. The little restaurant was packed and for good reason: the food was incredibly delicious, a very welcome change for the Saiyan who had largely lived on rations and what little fruit he could source, most of it dried or packed in brine. He was certain that he had lost at least eight to ten pounds since leaving Earth, and he worried that the rations couldn't fuel his huge metabolism.

He couldn't be sure if anybody recognized him, but nobody went out of their way to catch his attention either. Even the waiter kept his distance, although Vegeta made certain to be polite during their brief interactions.

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" A tall, thin, and very shy waiter with blue skin and grey eyes approached with an unopened bottle of fruit juice and allowed the Saiyan to twist off the cap. Vegeta approved of this action, even if it hadn't been explicitly requested, and decided that perhaps this waiter had some sort of integrity or moral code. It meant he could almost begin to believe this young waiter wasn't a threat.

"Very good. Call in an order for more noodles with vegetables and meat with skin cracklings, please."

The waiter nodded and turned away immediately. It left Vegeta feeling unsettled. Maybe the waiter wasn't so good after all.

In desperate need of a break from constant solitary training and travel and destruction, Vegeta had brought his ship down into a valley some fifty kilometers outside a large trading hub situated in the northeastern hemisphere of a planet called G-11. Nobody had paid him any mind as he made his way into the city, nor was he ever stopped and asked for identification. It was all a little weird, and the longer he went without being noticed, the more suspicious he grew. It was only a matter of time before things got hectic.

Something was up, he was sure of it. Not only was Vegeta's reputation widespread, but he knew very well his appearance was distinctive in a galaxy filled with reptiles, amphibians, and insects. It was the rare mammal indeed that wasn't completely covered in hair, and even without his tail, Vegeta stuck out in a crowd. The wild hair only added to the tendency for others to spot him.

Vegeta was also very aware of the fact that he was not well-liked, and almost everybody cooperated with him out of fear rather than respect.

When the waiter returned with his second serving, Vegeta ordered him to take a bite of everything.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't feel very comfortable doing that..."

"Fucking taste it," Vegeta's eyes were locked on the waiter's.

Reluctantly, the waiter swallowed a spoonful of broth and took a small piece of meat from the platter.

"More. Eat some noodles. Slurp down some of that soup."

Laughing nervously, the waiter complied with the Saiyan's order. He ate a large mouthful of noodles, followed by several more spoonfuls of broth, and let out another awkward laugh. This kid is literally still a child, thought Vegeta, he's in way over his head. He doesn't know what's going on. Twenty seconds after swallowing a slow trickle of blood oozed out of the waiter's right nostril, and when the waiter began to whimper, Vegeta suspected he hadn't known the food was tampered.

"Sit down and stay still. You didn't poison the food, did you?"

"N-n-n-no," the waiter stuttered and fought the urge to wipe the blood oozing out of his nostrils, "I just pick up the food from the kitchen and bring it out!"

Vegeta caught the scent of the blood. The waiter was a mammal, just like him, and was apparently an innocent bystander in a poorly planned assassination.

"Mm. You've got at least half an hour before death sets in. I'm probably poisoned too, so... I'll be back. Stay still if you want to live."

Vegeta pushed his way through the crowded eatery and stormed into the kitchen. A blade flew through the air, headed for his forehead, and Vegeta ducked out of the way well before it passed through the space he'd just occupied. It lodged into the wall behind his head, and the Saiyan stood back up to his full height and located his assailant.

Dressed in white was a tall, reptilian creature with a thin snout and hard red eyes fixed on the Saiyan. "Nice try sitting in the corner, Saiyan, but this is my restaurant and I take a look at every table! You're going to die, monkey!"

Vegeta lunged forwards and his right hand closed around the cook's neck, fingertips pressing hard into his larynx and a thin, forked tongue practically tumbling out of his open mouth. The Saiyan drew the cook in until they were inches apart, hooking his left arm around the cook's forearms and belly, and jamming his leg in between the cook's so he could begin administering a brutal crush to his groin. When Vegeta increased the pressure, he spotted a set of needle-like fangs in the cook's mouth dripping fat drops of venom, and he knew to move fast.

Without using much strength at all, Vegeta flipped the cook midair and slammed his face into the searing flat-top grill, lazily scanning the kitchen with his eyes for any other threats as the cook screamed and tried to thrash his way out of the primate's iron grip. A sous-chef had hidden in the corner of the room, crouched in place and head covered as a protective measure. As the cook's screams turned into gurgles and the stench of burning flesh grew stronger, Vegeta shrugged at the sous-chef and continued scanning the kitchen.

"Do you bite too?"

The sous chef only shook his head.

"Okay, then. Well," Vegeta paused to pull the dying cook off the grill, his face seared, "he's cooked. Excuse me."

Vegeta ripped off the reptile's head, dropped the still-twitching body, and headed out to the front of the restaurant, carrying the head in his arm and hopping up onto the bar. He effortlessly produced a bright flash of light, followed by a loud bang, and every patron instantly noticed the Saiyan.

Horrified silence thick in the air, Vegeta scanned the patrons and tried to pick out any other specific, imminent threats. Nothing.

He felt something hot and wet around his nostrils, and knew he had to act fast.

"Alright, you amateurs! I don't know who called in the hit on me, but it was a really shitty plan! If any of you want to battle, speak up now! Trying to kill me off on the sly won't work this time! Frieza is gone, and I am still roaming through PTO territory! Let it be known that anyone who challenges me will face a brutal death, just like our friend right here," Vegeta held the head up and heard several patrons gagging or muffling screams, "and there shall be no exception to my rule! This is my territory now and I am not to be approached at any cost- challenge me if you dare!"

With his piece said, Vegeta dropped the head onto the counter and hopped off, landing onto the ground with a quiet thump.

Everybody gave the Saiyan a very wide berth of space. Vegeta returned to the waiter, who had remained still but continued bleeding, picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. He kicked through a tall window and stepped out into the street, scanned the skies for any patrol vehicles, and flew up slowly.

"Where's the medical center, kid?"

"Four kilometers east," the waiter's voice came thick through the blood in his throat, "what are you doing?"

Vegeta didn't respond. He kept flying at a steady speed, pinning down the medical center's location in under three minutes, and entered through a receiving bay designed for disabled ships. With the waiter still slung over his shoulder, he tossed blasts of energy at soldiers and bystander and made his way into the emergency wing.

Dumping the waiter on a bare metal table, Vegeta felt his head going fuzzy, ordered everybody out (unless they wanted to die, naturally) and began searching through supply cupboards for anti-venom sticks- they were quite large and designed to be jammed into the buttock or thigh to deliver a powerful dose of an all-purpose anti-venom that almost always brought bite victims back to normal within minutes.

As Vegeta searched, he swore that he had lost a minute of his recent memory.

It took four agonizing minutes to find the anti-venom, and Vegeta chastised himself for not demanding the medical technicians at least direct him to the right cupboard before he ordered them out. He was sure he'd killed a few doctors, but he couldn't explicitly recall killing anybody since entering the emergency ward. He went straight to the waiter, who was starting to foam at the mouth, jammed the anti-venom stick into his thigh, and then took another and jammed it into his own thigh. Instantly, Vegeta felt his pounding heart slow to a normal rate, and it became easier to breathe. Forty seconds later, the waiter rolled himself over and vomited a mixture of blood and partially digested food onto the floor.

Vegeta finally realized there were at least a dozen mangled bodies scattered throughout the emergency ward.

"Stay still. You're going to be alright," Vegeta returned to the cupboards and looked for an emetic. He wasn't about to take chances- he needed to get the food out of his belly right away.

With the waiter panting and slowly recovering, Vegeta took a teaspoon of a sickly sweet syrup and leaned against a counter, bracing himself for what was about to come.

A minute passed before Vegeta grew violently ill, vomiting into a sink with such intensity that he had to squeeze his legs together and grip the side of the counter. After another minute, his stomach completely emptied and aching, Vegeta collected himself and chose to take a quick shower.

Vegeta caught his reflection in the mirror and realized he was covered in blood. How much of it was his own? His eyes seemed unusually bright and especially glassy.

By the time Vegeta had cleaned himself off and was dressed in fresh clothing and new armour, the waiter was alert, but too frightened to move off the metal table he'd been dumped on just a few minutes prior.

"Hey, kid," Vegeta threw his damp towel at the young waiter, "go rinse off. Put some fresh clothes on."

Wide-eyed and jaw slack, the waiter just stared at Vegeta. "Why did yo-"

"Take a goddamn shower, kid! Now!"

* * *

In the medical center's sterile, deserted cafeteria, Vegeta and the young waiter shared a table and slowly refilled their aching stomachs with cool milk and small bowls of a bland porridge. Still reeling from all that had just happened to him, the waiter scarcely said a word but gratefully accepted the food the infamous soldier put in front of him.

"Y'alright, kid?" Vegeta's voice was a gravelly drawl through a mouthful of porridge.

"Yeah... I'm alright. Are you okay?" The waiter looked down at his "new" clothing, a set of scrubs worn by medical technicians. His old clothing had been soaked in blood, vomit, and mucus, and Vegeta had ordered him to throw it into an incinerator.

"Never been better," Vegeta took a sip of milk, "just fantastic..."

They ate in silence for several minutes before Vegeta cleared his throat. "What's your name?"

"I'm Shuang. You're Vegeta, aren't you?"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and gave the kid a pointed look. He hated it when people tried to confirm what they already knew to be fact. "Shuang, huh? You look young."

Shuang let out another nervous giggle. "Um, I'm turning sixteen soon."

Vegeta responded by rolling his eyes again. Just a kid, he thought, thrown into a situation he didn't understand.

"You need to find different work, Shuang. Trust me. Go apprentice for a mechanic or something. Waiters like you get killed by creeps like me," Vegeta smirked and paused to take another drink, "almost as often as I kill bad cooks."

"Why did you spare me, Mister Vegeta?"

"If you had been sent to kill me, you would have killed yourself before ever trying the tampered meal. This isn't the first time some hotheaded chef has tried to kill me, and any server in on the plot has always delivered my meal with a cyanide capsule in between their teeth, ready to bite down the instant things don't go according to plan; not exactly a bad idea either considering how brutal their deaths would be if delivered by my hands. So, let me guess: you pick up food and bring it to the tables, but otherwise had nothing to do with what goes on in the kitchen. You occasionally make drinks, but the bartenders don't trust you enough yet to let you have full access to the bar. Am I correct?"

"Yeah..." Shuang's grey eyes were wide with amazement.

"Figures..."

"Can I ask you a question, Mister Vegeta?"

The Saiyan growled. "Oh, fine. What is it?"

"Why did you help me? You can't just say it's because I'm "some kid", either. I'm not stupid, you know. I know you aren't to be fucked with, and I also know that you aren't into heroics."

The Saiyan laughed at this bit of ego-stroking and honest truth. "No heroics, indeed. I dunno, kid, I just helped your dumb ass out because you're obviously in over your head. Are you trying to support your family or some shit? Maybe I'm just getting soft... since I've got..." Vegeta cut himself off, horrified at what he was admitting.

I _don't_ have any family, he reminded himself, I am alone for life.

Shuang opened another carton of milk. "Uh, yeah. It's just my mother and I now, and I've got four siblings to support."

"Uh huh. That's a tough break, kid. But really, try to get an apprenticeship."

Shuang almost-smiled at Vegeta and slowly rose from his seat. "I will. Um... I think it's time for me to leave, Mister Vegeta. Thanks again..."

"Take care, kid."

He watched the skinny teenager leave the cafeteria and his train of thought started up again. Lights overhead buzzing softly, Vegeta tried to make sense of all that had just happened. An observant (but very stupid) chef had tried to play the hero by lacing his food with venom, a young, nervous waiter was caught in the crossfire, and Vegeta had taken the time to save an innocent bystander while also taking care of himself.

What the fuck has gotten into me, he wondered, feeling numb and almost outside of himself as he flew back to his ship, considering the stop a bust. It was time to leave the planet before any more incidents occurred. Why did I help out that stupid kid? That's not like me at all!

...he had siblings to support, too. He's got a lot to carry.

Vegeta lifted off and went downstairs to the living area, collapsing on the couch. His brush with death had been unexpected and certainly frightening, but he couldn't stop thinking about the waiter named Shuang, still in disbelief that he had apparently helped the kid without thinking twice. He felt rather sorry for Shuang, knowing he had to support his siblings and a mother.

No father in his life, he thought, just like my own brat.

He folded his arms, shut his eyes, and forced himself to take a nap. He'd have a better grip on things once he'd slept a bit.

 


	56. Keep Pushing

 

 

 

It had been more than eighteen hours since Bulma had experienced her first contractions while at work, and she wasn't certain how much more she could take.

"Keep pushing!"

She screamed and gripped the railing of her hospital bed, teeth grit and sweat rolling down her forehead. "I can't!"

"We're almost there, I can see the head now. keep pushing!" The hospital obstetrician guided her patient through the final process of giving birth. It had been a long ordeal for her patient, who seemed particularly nervous about the ordeal ahead of her despite all assurances everything was perfectly normal.

Damp with sweat and so deep in agony that she wanted to die that that moment, Bulma gripped the guardrails of her bed and screamed as she pushed one more time, feeling as though a ring of fire had erupted in her belly.

"One more push! You're doing great!"

Several seconds of blankness passed before Bulma's mind caught up with what was going on, brain flooded with endorphins and eyes flooding with tears. She figured out her newborn son was being cleaned and recorded and sighed with relief when everything seemed normal. She caught the sound of a baby crying very loudly and gasped with delight when the infant was guided into her waiting arms.

He was a tiny, pink ball of fat, with thick black hair covering his scalp, eyes squeezed shut as he screamed, and small hands clenched into fists. He had a tiny nub on his tailbone, and Bulma wondered if it would soon turn into a tail.

"Oh, he's beautiful..." she sniffed and marvelled at his tiny face, "look at him..."

Within seconds the baby was latched onto her breast, and Bulma couldn't help but laugh. She already knew that baby was going to have a huge appetite. Despite all her worries throughout the pregnancy, her panic when she realized she was going into active labour while driving home from work, and the terrible pain she had just experienced while actually giving birth, Bulma decided it had all been worth it.

Bulma slept for a few hours after feeding her son for the first time, and awoke to a very large breakfast and her son sleeping at her beside, safe in his own tiny mobile crib. There was a stack of unopened cards and wrapped gifts on a nearby couch.

So I really am a mother now, she thought, this little baby is mine. Wow...

As she tucked into a plate of scrambled egg and fruit salad, Bulma's mother came to visit. She set a huge gift bag down on the floor and immediately approached the crib.

"Good morning, sweetheart! And how is my beautiful grandson doing? Ohh," she gently picked him up and cradled him, "look at you..." she cooed.

"He really is beautiful..." Bulma sighed and set her empty plate aside, "worth the effort after all..."

"You're going to be very popular with the ladies when you grow up, baby," Mrs. Briefs talked to her grandson in a soft, high-pitched voice, "you look like a nice mix of your beautiful mommy and your handsome daddy!"

"Ugh. Sperm donor, Mom," Bulma hissed, "he's just a sperm donor."

"You two will work it out, just you wait and see," Mrs. Briefs resumed looking at her grandson and chose to end the conversation there.

* * *

Stretching and yawning as he made his way into the ship's kitchenette, Vegeta struggled to keep his mind off what had been yet another fruitless stop that failed to challenge him. He'd landed on an isolated planet that served as a huge base for transit ships, and although there were plenty of soldiers to battle and resources to take as he pleased, what it lacked was a decent fight that pushed him to his limits.

He reheated two ration packs, fetched some fresh fruit from the refrigerator, and dropped into his seat at the tiny kitchen table. Heaving a sigh, he watched distant stars pass by the port windows and tried not to think about what he could possibly do next.

He had to do something in order to keep pushing his limits. Waiting around would do him no good.

Vegeta hated the feeling of being lost or unsure of what to do with himself above all other things. He needed to keep going; if he didn't progress, what point was there in living?

It could be weeks before I hit another decent-sized base or a planet, he thought, that's a lot of time to train on my own... what to do, what to do?

Another few bites of his first ration pack. It was awful stuff, but at least it kept his stomach reasonably full.

_I bet that kid's been born..._

After eating, he went downstairs to his living area and curled up on top of his bed. Soon, he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

_Vegeta stomped through the entrance to the cavernous shop and made his way to the very back, where he knew there were living quarters with an extra cot available if needed. He stood in the doorway, switched on the lights, and wasn't surprised to the tiny home empty._

_"Anybody here?" He tossed his canvas bag onto the neatly-made cot in the room before turning back out into the shop again. "Hello?"_

" _Up here, kid!" A loud, husky voice called out from a platform raised and locked underneath the hull of a massive floating taxicab that had been suspended high above the main floor. Gloved hands took control of a remote and lowered the platform, and a very tall woman rolled up onto her knees and rose to greet Vegeta as she came to the ground. "Good to see you back in one piece... or what looks like one piece, anyway. Wow, Vegeta, you must have had a crazy mission, you're banged up!"_

_Vegeta took a look at his bandaged arms and bound ankle before sighing. "Things got a little crazy during the mission and again during the journey back here. I'm alright. The bandages are just to help some leftover cuts and burns heal up. My pod, however... did you get a call from Docking Bay 16 yet? They said they'd call and arrange to have it shipped over here. The navigation system is screwed up and my landing was really rough. Two of the airbags didn't deploy..."_

" _Oh, yeah! They called a couple days ago, maybe? They're supposed to be bringing it over later today. Did you just get out of the medical wing? C'mon, kid, we both need something to eat."_

_The Saiyan nodded in agreement and followed his trusted mechanic, Malar, to the cramped living quarters connected to her huge shop. She was a head taller than Raditz, quite curvaceous and well-muscled, with deep caramel skin, narrow grey eyes, plump cheeks, a wide, straight nose, full lips, and tightly curled forest green hair pulled into two buns on either side of her head. Vegeta had known Malar for close to three years, and within the last year he had been experiencing feelings he couldn't quite explain whenever he spent time with her. She was beautiful, she was "cool" (whatever that meant, anyway), and she always seemed happy to see Vegeta. Whenever Vegeta spent time with her, he swore he could feel a fluttering in his stomach. Sometimes looking into her eyes made him feel unsettled, and more frequently he noticed how her tops would cling to her large breasts and taut belly or how her trousers hugged her backside._

_Malar put together bowls of spicy soup with chewy brown noodles and leftover roasted meat, made a pot of the same herbal tisane she always drank, and took the time to cut up fruit and serve it nicely spread out on a plate. It was all simple food, especially by Vegeta's increasingly-refined palate, but it was delicious and filled his belly._

" _Can I crash here tonight?" Vegeta took another sip of his broth and hoped there was more to eat._

_The mechanic's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I thought you were in that new apartment with the two big bedrooms and the view overlooking the water ports!"_

" _Ugh, Captain Hairloss and the skank are having another one of their "ragers" or whatever," Vegeta made air quotations with his fingers, "and it's so loud there I can't even think, let alone recover! They're drunk and probably on drugs and there's always whores coming through... of course, they didn't get cornered by a pack of enemy soldiers during the mission, so they're in perfectly good condition..."_

" _Of course you can crash here, Vegeta! That sounds like a rough situation! I'm just surprised you haven't gone to a hotel, considering youth spending restrictions no longer apply to you now that you're sixteen..."_

" _Uuugh!" Vegeta groaned and dragged his fingertips down his face, "they won't rent to me 'cause I'm still just sixteen and you've gotta be seventeen to rent on this damn planet! I hate this!"_

_Malar gave Vegeta a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "I'm sorry your teammates are so rude and gross. Can't you talk to them?"_

" _No! They're so screwed up right now, trying to talk with them is like trying to talk to a wall."_

_"How long are you on leave?"_

" _Couple weeks..." he sighed, "could wind up being a couple months before our next assignment since we get direct communication from Frieza or his lackey Dodoria now." As much as Vegeta liked Malar, he knew it would be rude to stay at her tiny home for any longer than a few days, not to mention he didn't enjoy being in what he considered lodging for commoners._

" _Mm," she nodded, "I see..."_

" _Only a few days, Malar. I just need some sleep."_

" _Oh, I'm not gonna kick you out, Vegeta. You obviously need the sleep because you look like hell! No offense..."_

" _I know. Unfortunately, my "private bedroom" became a shared bedroom since Raditz and Nappa argued they need the separate rooms for their, ahem, dates. Raditz is loud as hell, keeps alcohol in our room, smokes something that smells really strange and makes me lightheaded, and now that he keeps bringing prostitutes back... I... uuugh!" Vegeta faded away into a growl._

_Vegeta couldn't stand being only sixteen: he wanted to be older, stronger, taller, more powerful, and most of all Vegeta wanted to be taken seriously. Nobody took him seriously, and it was a constant sore spot for him._

_Malar just watched the young Saiyan's animated face and gave him a sympathetic nod. "You want some more soup?"_

_After a shared meal and an agreement to go see a movie at the closest entertainment complex, Vegeta found himself winding down at the same time as Malar, feeling very tired indeed and grateful for what was sure to be many hours of uninterrupted sleep in a quiet environment._

_Down to his underwear and a light t-shirt, Vegeta lay on his cot (it had been folded out in Malar's bedroom, the only room where it would properly fit) and tried not to watch the mechanic washing her face in the connecting washroom. She was down to a pair of high-cut underwear and a loose tank top, revealing more than Vegeta had ever seen before, and the sight was enough to make Vegeta's face very red._

_"Mmmm," Malar crawled into her bed and didn't notice when Vegeta caught a glimpse of her breasts, "that was fun. I like that you're quiet during the movie, Vegeta. Too many people talk when I just wanna watch!"_

_"Uh-huh," Vegeta rolled onto his belly, desperate to hide his erection, "yeah, you too. We should sleep."_

_"Yeah, okay," Malar switched off her lamp but immediately turned on her tablet, "do you want me to wake you up in the morning?"_

_"Huh? Oh, um, no," Vegeta avoided looking at Malar, who was now laying on her side with a thin sheet draping her body, "let me sleep."_

_"Okay. See you when you get up, then," Malar shifted her attention to her tablet, while Vegeta forced himself to keep his eyes shut and breathe slowly._

_Twenty five minutes passed. Malar was finally winding down and about to turn off her tablet when Vegeta cleared his throat and spoke up, still keeping his eyes shut: "Malar?"_

_"Yes, Vegeta?"_

_"I like you."_

_"That's sweet, Vegeta," Malar shut off her tablet, "I like you too. You're turning into a real friend. Good night..." she turned over in her bed and shut her eyes._

_Although the young Saiyan kept still and didn't reply, he felt as though a boulder had just slammed into his chest. An awful prickling sensation began at the corners of his eyes and down the bridge of his nose, and Vegeta buried his face into the pillow until he couldn't take it any longer._

_After many minutes, Vegeta heard Malar's soft breathing and the occasional quiet snore. Traffic rumbled by on the street just on the other side of the wall. The regular trickle of lights from passing vehicles, diffused and hazy through the dark curtains. The soft click of a timed heater beginning another cycle. He rolled off the cot, tip-toed with his bag of belongings and clothing into the kitchen and changed there, and then headed out into the rainy night. Perhaps Nappa and Raditz would also be asleep when he arrived back at the apartment._

 


	57. That Sinking Feeling

Bulma forced herself to refrain from attending to any work-related matters, lasting all of three and a half weeks. She spent many hours resting with the baby at her side, watching television, nursing her son, and eating. The enormous appetite she'd developed during pregnancy persisted, although Bulma swore she was dropping all the extra weight she'd gained during pregnancy. Within two weeks, she could almost button up her favourite pair of blue jeans again.

It was a full week before Bulma finally decided on a name. She'd pondered naming her son John, Avery, Benjamin... she even (momentarily) considered calling him Vegeta Junior. But every name she considered just didn't fit her son. The right name finally came to her as she nursed her son after an early-morning walk around the compound: Trunks.

By Trunks' second week of life, Bulma had been forced to supplement her breast milk with formula, unable to keep up with her son's appetite. When he didn't want to eat, he wanted to sleep.

As Trunks entered his first month of life, the thick, unruly black hair that had covered his scalp at birth started to fall out, revealing a pale bald head soon covered with a dusting of very fine violet hair. His eyes were a brilliant, clear blue, and he seemed capable of focusing on things both near and far away- something that immediately set Trunks aside from other babies. As for the nub on his lower back, it grew several inches each week and became increasingly furry. Not only did Trunks resemble his father, but he also had a tail that was soon considerably longer than his chubby legs and wiggled constantly.

Although Bulma had expected her parents would want to help her with her newborn baby, she hadn't expected them to demonstrate such devotion to being a part of Trunks' life from the start. They doted on the infant, frequently purchased new clothing, changed diapers, and offered to bottle-feed the infant if Bulma wanted to sleep.

One afternoon, after Trunks had been put to bed for the afternoon, Bulma went downstairs to the living room to find Yamcha waiting for her, a tiny gift bag clutched in his hands. "Hi, Bulma..."

"Yamcha! Boy, am I glad to see you," Bulma tightly embraced Yamcha, "as much as I've enjoyed my time at home after giving birth, I sure do miss socializing... and work..."

"You're not thinking of going back to work already, are you?!" Yamcha wasn't really surprised by Bulma's comment, but he just wanted to make sure he'd heard her correctly.

"Well, yeah," Bulma took a seat on the couch and invited Yamcha to join her, "you know how I am, Yamcha."

"Eh, I guess. Um, I got you something... for the baby..." Yamcha handed over the tiny pastel pink and blue gift bag, avoiding Bulma's eyes when he did so.

"Oh, Yamcha..." Bulma reached into the bag and pulled away the tissue paper wrapped around a tiny dark blue knit cap that featured two tiny points that resembled a cat's ears, "it's so cute! Trunks is gonna look adorable in this! When it's time to feed him, we're gonna see how it looks on him, okay? You wanna see him? He's _really_ cute when he's asleep, just like his Daddy."

Through uncomfortable laughter, Yamcha agreed and followed Bulma upstairs. The guest bedroom he'd once occupied had been transformed into a spacious, bright nursery, filled a variety of toys, a bookshelf stocked with everything from nursery rhymes to introductory science books to philosophical texts, a huge assortment of clothing, and a television mounted on the wall. In the centre of the room stood the crib, and laying on his back was the tiny baby, fast asleep and not stirring.

"Geez," Yamcha's eyes widened, "this place looks different. Oh, wow," he tip-toed over to the crib, "he's so little! Looks like he took after you, Bulma!"

"I'm seeing a mixture these days," Bulma admired her sleeping son, "he honestly looked like what newborn Vegeta probably looked like thirty-something years ago. Like, total clone of his father. Black hair, and this weird stub where he's now got a tail! It started growing after I gave birth to him! I had no idea Saiyans didn't have tails at birth! Ohmygod, you gotta see his tail when he's awa-"

Baby Trunks stirred on his cot and his tiny fists clenched tight. His increasingly-long, furry tail slapped against the mattress and Yamcha jumped back with surprise. " _Whoa_. Guess there's no debating who the father is..."

The infant's eyes fluttered open, and Yamcha was relived when they looked like Bulma's. Vegeta's dark, glimmering eyes gave Yamcha the creeps, and he didn't enjoy having extended eye-contact with the Saiyan.

Bulma shook her head. "Nope... oh, are you waking up, Trunkie? Is it time for ba-ba? C'mon," she reached into the crib and gently lifted her son out, "let's go downstairs."

* * *

_Hair dripping from the cold rain, Vegeta crossed the threshold of the bedroom he shared with his young comrade, Raditz, and actually smiled when he found it unoccupied. Signs of a days-long party were present; full ashtrays, empty liquor bottles, damp towels and dirty clothing strewn about the floor, burnt-out candles, and the mattress pulled halfway off the base of Raditz' bed._

" _Ugh," Vegeta's nose wrinkled at the smell of the stale air and he immediately went to the climate control panel to turn on the air conditioner, "...'least they're not home right now... maybe they'll be out for a day or two..."_

_Vegeta mulled over the possibility of taking a long, hot shower before going to sleep as he pulled off his light protective armour, boots, and finally his thermal wear. He decided against it, in case his idiotic comrades returned before he'd had a chance to sleep. He collapsed in his bed, which for the most part had been left untouched by Raditz (aside from an undergarment which definitely did not belong to any of the Saiyans) and lay on his back, staring into the darkness and struggling to keep his thoughts from sliding into unchecked paranoia._

" _Why the hell did I have to say that to her?" Vegeta rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around himself._

_The whisper-quiet hum of the air conditioner mixed with the sound of heavy rain and Vegeta felt his breath slowing while the ache in his chest grew._

" _Nobody wants me."_

_His knees drew towards his chest and he dipped his chin down, heaving a sigh and squeezing his eyes shut._

" _Nobody wants me... all I'm good for is destruction."_

_He slipped into dreamless rest, awaking many hours later to Raditz shaking his shoulder. The room was dim and Vegeta realized the cold, rainy night had turned into dreary morning. "Mmmuh?"_

" _Wake up! That ugly bitch Malar is calling for you. Are you wanna get that or should I tell her to fuck off?"_

_Vegeta snapped into an upright position, punched Raditz hard in the bicep, and got out of bed, grabbing a loose night shirt hanging from a hook on the en-suite washroom door. "I'll take it in here. Get out, Raditz. And take your stinking laundry, too!"_

_Raditz grumbled but did not disobey the prince's orders. Once Raditz had left, Vegeta shut the door and switched on the entertainment console mounted on the wall, navigated the home screen, and accepted Malar's call._

" _Hey! Why did you leave? I was gonna suggest we just grab breakfast at a food stall before fixing your pod..." Malar looked over Vegeta, her brow crooked and eyes narrow._

" _Oh. Well, I woke up early and figured I'd go train..."_

_Malar's expression gave away her scepticism over Vegeta's reason, but she accepted it anyway. "Okay. I'll be at the shop later- gotta attend some meeting with the big brass in a few hours, ugh..." she rolled her eyes, "they were soooo just great about giving me advance notice! That Zarbon is a real piece of work! Anyway... come by later so you can tell me what happened with your pod in detail, yeah?"_

" _Mm, alright. And good luck with Zarbon- he's a real prick."_

_Vegeta went back to sleep after disconnecting the call, barely stirring when Raditz re-entered the room and loudly shoved his own mattress back into place before collapsing on it._

_After sleeping another few hours, Vegeta woke, took a brief shower, changed into clean clothing and put on his scouter and light armour. He pulled the heavy burgundy cloak he'd had made by a nearby seamstress over his shoulders and fastened it shut, heading out into the hazy, grey morning._

_Vegeta took the underground system to Malar's block, not keen on traversing the four kilometre route that passed through several run-down blocks again. Nobody ever bothered him, of course, but there were moments where the teenaged Saiyan just loved to be lazy._

_He spent several minutes watching his own reflection in the window as the train passed through a dark tunnel, always monitoring the eyes and movements of the passengers around him to make sure they weren't paying attention to him._

_At least my face looks better, he thought, not so chubby now, hah! Vegeta didn't like that his face was so round and plump; it felt like everybody made fun of his cheeks or his chin. Worse yet, he'd experienced a terrible bout of facial acne the year prior- something everybody in the galaxy seemed to notice and poke fun at- it had resulted in several people meeting their demise, including a taxi driver._

_Raditz had said the entire thing was the beginning of puberty, which Vegeta had seriously doubted._

_Much to the prince's surprise, Raditz had been right about the puberty thing, and over the course of one short year Vegeta suddenly grew three and a half inches taller (by his fifteenth birthday, he was officially over five feet tall) while his appetite grew ever larger, his skin broke out with pimples and clogged pores, his moods were unpredictable, and he suddenly started noticing others in a different way; some people around him had features or a charisma that made him feel strange and wonderful at the same time._

_Then he noticed Malar, the funny mechanic he'd known for years. Suddenly, she became the funny and attractive mechanic he'd known for years, and being around her became rife with (what he considered) to be awkward moments. He struggled not to stare at her and felt embarrassed while when she caught him looking, although she never said anything or seemed disgusted by him._

_She'd never said she was attracted to him, either, and Vegeta had his doubts she saw him that way. It certainly stung, but he forced himself to accept it as another cold, hard fact. The whole thing rolled endlessly in his mind, deepening his general feeling of angst at that point in his strange life._

_Vegeta returned to Malar's shop and found her working on his pod, humming away to a mindless tune drifting through the air from the dusty speakers of an old stereo._

" _Well, aren't you the regal one!" Malar pulled herself from underneath his pod to greet the Saiyan. "I hope your outfit underneath is fit to get dirty, because I wanna give you a crash course in how the inside of your pod works before I depart."_

" _Depart?" Vegeta furrowed his brow at Malar. A twinge of worry began in his stomach._

" _Yeah," Malar sighed and wiped her brow with her forearm, leaving a streak of grease behind, "my meeting with the big guys wrapped up a lot sooner than I expected. Frieza's ordered me to work on his newest mass transit ship as he navigates its maiden voyage..."_

_Vegeta thought he would drop to his knees, devastated by this news. "What?! How can he do that?"_

" _Oh, you tell me, Vegeta! The same way he sends you and your comrades on various missions!" Malar sighed again, "I'm gonna miss this shop..."_

" _No..." Vegeta felt his face getting hot, "when... when do you leave?"_

" _Four days. I have enough time to fix your pod and give you some good advice should this thing ever break down when you're on an isolated mission, pack my tools and essentials, and clean out the living area in the back. You should go change if your outfit is as nice as your cloak, Vegeta. I found an old shirt you left behind before your last mission, it's in the bathroom on the drying rack. Should be good by now..."_

_Vegeta felt like he was sinking into a pit. "Yeah," he nearly whimpered, "just a minute..." he walked as quickly as he could manage without breaking into a run, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes._

_He locked the bathroom door, pulled off his cloak, and sunk to the grubby tile floor, silently sobbing with a hand clapped over his mouth._

_Ten minutes passed before he heard a soft knocking on the bathroom door. "Everything alright in there?"_

" _Go away!" He snarled, "I'll be out soon! Leave me!"_

* * *

Vegeta snapped into full-fledged consciousness the instant he heard a loud bang and felt himself being flung out of his bed. He'd been having such a nice, dreamless sleep, too!

"Son of a bitch!" He pushed himself off the floor and stumbled over to the computer console in his living area, bringing up the ship's diagnostic information and hoping that he wasn't about to experience a catastrophic failure inside the ship.

"Computer! What's going on?"

"LOCATION UNKNOWN... ... PROCESSING... LOCATION... UNKNOWN... ATMOSPHERIC CONTENTS... NITROGEN 78, OXYGEN 21, CO2 0.004... AIR QUALITY... GOOD... WATER CONTENT... UNKNOWN. DEEMED SAFE TO VENTURE OUTSIDE. THANK YOU FOR TRAVELING CAPSULE CORP!"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed and he peered out the port window, realizing there was an awful lot of pink and purple hues and what he swore were rock formations.

"Oh, my... God..." Vegeta took in the scene outside, realizing he really had landed on an unknown planet, panic filling his chest and constricting his breath. Why had the ship landed? Had the woman remotely controlled his ship to land? Was there a mechanical failure aboard, and could he fix it?

I could die here, he realized, without anybody knowing what really happened to me...

He felt an awful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. After taking a minute to steady his breath and slow his racing thoughts, he decided the best course of action would be to call Bulma. It was time to face the mother of his child one more time.

 


	58. Nothing But A Miracle

Trunks had just gone down for another nap when Bulma heard her tablet chirping away, and it took a second for her to recognize the noise: it was the incoming call signal from the ship Vegeta was using.

"Unreal," she ran to the lab to accept the call on a larger screen, "after all this time! He'd better be in a good mood! I bet he's calling to bitch and whine."

She accepted the call and was shocked when her screen displayed an image that flickered and warped constantly. She caught half-second glimpses of his face, unable to properly focus on any of his features. A garbled noise and pulses of static came through the speaker.

"- lo? H-lo? G-G-g- Ull- Ksh-dnt- wr-asdon-tkt-ow-tk-tk-tk- _ **kshhhhhhhhhh**_!"

"Vegeta? Hello? Hello?"

Vegeta felt his pulse quicken when the image of Bulma flickered on the screen before going totally blank. He could hear static coming through the speakers and a woman's voice, very faint and impossible to understand. He disconnected immediately, realizing there was no way they could properly communicate that the moment, and began pacing the floor, struggling against the panic he could feel spreading inside his body.

"It's okay. I just need to let the ship's fuel cells recharge. Take a break..."

The computer spoke up again: "ENTERING PROTECTION MODE. DO NOT ATTEMPT TAKE OFF AT THIS TIME."

Before Vegeta could properly react, he heard the ship's power core slow down and stop. The port windows darkened as steel shutters expanded over the glass and automatically locked into place. Nearly all of the lights switched off, and a half dozen emergency lights took over, filling the ship with sterile light.

Outside the ship, an ominous crack of thunder split the heavens open and forks of lightning lit up the rapidly darkening sky. Heavy, black clouds rolled overhead, so close to the ground that Vegeta was actually a little frightened by what he saw.

Whatever was going on, he knew it wasn't good.

* * *

_Slouched over at the bar, near-empty bottle of beer in his right hand, Vegeta stared at himself in the grubby mirror behind the sparse collection of bottles. For what had to have been at least two weeks (the days were blurring together) his mood had gone into terminal decline, rendering him largely silent, blank-faced, and seemingly unaware of everything around him. Every time he shut his eyes, the terrible sight of what he had done haunted him. In the fourteen days he'd been back on Planet 79, Vegeta had slept perhaps twenty hours total._

_He drained the bottle and dropped it to the ground beside his stool. A pile of shattered glass collected on the ground around him, but bartenders fearing their lives did not dare approach him to sweep it up unless he requested. They did, however, keep him content with bottles of beer and occasional glasses of water. He declined all offers of food. He'd been there for over six hours, occasionally talking to himself in his native tongue, voice flat and raspy, and staring into space all the while._

" _Holy shit," muttered a soldier to his comrade at the other end of the bar, "look at the thousand yard stare on him..."_

_The second soldier elbowed his comrade in the side. "Shut up! Do you wan'im to notice us?"_

" _You fuckin'..." Vegeta's head rolled as he turned to look at the recoiling soldiers and he slid off his stool, avoiding all the glass despite his obvious inebriation, "fuckin' regular soldiers," he stumbled over to them and looked them up and down, hissing with disdain, "y'can'timagine... I'm a fuckin' monster," he continued walking, grabbing onto tables and backs of chairs as he made his way to the washroom._

_The soldiers heard something thumping inside the bathroom and decided it was time to pay their tabs and leave. The bartender serving them was more than happy to get their bill settled._

_Nappa, the huge Saiyan with the mohawk hairstyle and rumbling voice, entered the saloon and looked around for his comrade. "Anybody in here seen Vegeta? You're sure to know what he looks like!"_

" _Try the bathroom," one customer sitting in a dingy booth snapped, "it's about time somebody got that brat outta here..."_

" _Oh, fuck off!" Nappa shot back, heading into the washroom to collect Vegeta._

_As Nappa went into the washroom, Raditz entered the saloon, having overheard the rude comment and deciding it was time to put whomever said it in their place. He found an older man with green skin going grey with age, sparse grey hair slicked across a balding scalp, and weary blue eyes._

" _The fuck's your problem, man?" Raditz pulled the man out of the booth and pinned him against the wall._

" _That kid's been in here for hours, drinking nonstop and making everybody nervous! Get 'im outta here!"_

_Raditz threw the old man to the ground and spat on him. "You piece of shit! Don't you dare insult a Saiyan! I'll kill you next time!" He watched as Nappa dragged Vegeta out of the bathroom, who had started rambling in the Saiyan tongue again. The young Saiyan had apparently punched a mirror, cut hands oozing blood and leaving a trail on the floor as they left the saloon._

" _God damn, Vegeta! Get it together, you pussy!" Raditz snarled and he slapped Vegeta around the back of his head as he was dragged out into the street, barely able to stand upright._

_Vegeta vomited in the gutter and immediately started screaming, voice slurring in a language nobody knew. Nappa held the inebriated Saiyan prince up and sighed. "We gotta get him to a doctor. He's fucking losing it, Raditz."_

_Raditz rolled his eyes and called for an ambulance on his scouter. They waited there on the sidewalk, underneath the hot sun as Vegeta struggled to stay conscious, and flagged the ambulance down when they heard its siren as it came screaming up the street._

_At the medical centre, the doctor examining Vegeta hooked him up to an IV drip and monitored his vital signs. Within fifteen minutes of arriving at the medical centre, Vegeta came to and let out a mournful cry. The doctor responded by giving the Saiyan a fast-acting sedative. It was possible the young soldier was having a psychotic break, but he may have just needed to sleep. It was too early to tell._

_Eighteen hours later, Vegeta came to, mouth parched and eyes stinging from the bright hospital light. When he recognized a small figure in armour and a pair of sharp horns, Vegeta whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating a world of pain and humiliation. When he felt fingertips as smooth as snakeskin run up his arm, Vegeta's eyes cracked open and he turned his head to face Frieza._

_When Frieza gave Vegeta a smile many would describe as paternal and friendly, the Saiyan thought he may be sick again._

" _Vegeta, Vegeta... why all this madness? I am most disturbed by this news that you are so very depressed, my dear child."_

" _I killed it," croaked Vegeta, "I killed a little baby crying for its mother... I grabbed it by the leg and swung it against the wall... then I killed the mother... then I killed the family... ohgodIkilledababy..."_

" _You did your job, Vegeta," Frieza resumed stroking Vegeta's arm, "nothing more and nothing less. You fail to keep your feelings out of this. You fail to control your emotions."_

_Vegeta stared into Frieza's cold red eyes and whimpered once more. The room around him dissolved and he hung in a world of no colour, no temperature, no sensation. All around him and Frieza was a soft white light._

_"No..."_

" _You must learn to control your feelings. Shut them off. They do you no favours in the art of slaughter. Now, my boy, do not disappoint me like this again..."_

_As Frieza's fingertips left his skin, the world became real again and Vegeta sighed and shut his eyes. Two seconds later, the memory of the baby's cries suddenly turning to a gurgle followed by silence and the sound of its screaming mother surrounded him._

_His eyes snapped wide open and he screamed._

* * *

Wind whipping through his wet hair with such force that it felt like it was being pulled, Vegeta staggered down the hill his ship had landed on and watched the sky, anger bubbling up his stomach and into his mouth. He'd gone outside in the midst of a violent rainstorm, ready for any challenge. Vegeta was ready to do battle with the elements.

He screamed at the heavens, hoping the overseer of his existence was listening and taking note, because Vegeta wasn't fooling around any longer. He would beat nature, and he would get off the planet he'd plummeted to. "You want to fucking test me again, you asshole? You want to challenge me again?! FINE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! SHOW ME WHAT YOU'VE GOT, GOD! I'M READY!"

The sudden sting of his cheek being cut open by a whizzing rock made Vegeta snarl, and then he saw what was headed for him: a cascade of rocks and boulders that had taken the place of rain.

"About time you got creative!" Vegeta screamed at the sky once more, taking the incoming danger as a direct challenge from his maker. He let his psychic energy take over and started vaporizing the rocks as they raced towards the ground, cackling with glee all the while. About twenty minutes into his psychic onslaught against the meteors raining down from the skies, Vegeta caught a glimpse of his ship and realized it too had created a defensive force field around itself to avoid any damage. Any rock or boulder that approached it was turned into dust once it entered a five metre radius.

Wow, he thought, that woman thought of everything! Okay, I can just have some fun with this!

An hour passed, and Vegeta found himself enjoying this new, frightening situation. He did well for himself, incurring some cuts and scrapes but avoiding any major injury. Heart beating fast and on the edge of breathlessness, Vegeta gasped with painful laughter as the falling rocks slowed and then stopped altogether.

He staggered back up the tall hill to his ship and looked for any damage. Incredibly, the ship appeared to have come out of the storm in perfect condition. Vegeta heaved a sigh of relief and sunk to the ground as he caught his breath and struggled to collect himself. He lay on his back and let his body become totally relaxed.

Ten minutes passed before another crack of thunder rolled across the sky. Vegeta barely had enough time to stand upright before the rocks began falling from the heavens once more, even heavier and more dangerous than before. Exhausted, Vegeta threw up another force-field and prepared himself for another round of hardcore agility exercises.

When he heard the awful clang of a large rock hitting the side of his ship, Vegeta screamed in horror at the immediate realization that the ship's force-field had depleted. If Vegeta wanted to get off the planet, he'd have to protect the ship, and for twenty five minutes, Vegeta managed to do just that without any trouble.

And then things got worse. The hail of rocks grew heavier, and the amount of energy the Saiyan forced himself to continually expend in order to protect himself and the ship became too great a feat for his body to sustain. He took hits from smaller rocks, desperate to save his ship. Lungs aching, heart pounding, and body screaming for relief, Vegeta finally dropped to the ground, blood oozing through his clothing, and slammed his fists into the ground, growling with frustration and terror.

I'm going to fucking die here, he realized, this really is it. There's no way I can beat this...

It was all God's fault. The creator had really screwed him over, starting from the time he was born. Every prospect he had, and every opportunity he perused, it all ended in heartache, failure, and pain. He could no longer go on and started to prepare himself for the end.

"After so many battles, nothing! After so much pain, nothing! Where is my payout, God?! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He caught a glimpse of a meteor plummeting towards his disabled ship. My only way out of here, he thought, at least it will be crushed along with me...

I'm going to die, he told himself, tears rolling down his cheeks. He did not want to return to the cold and darkness; his soul just could not take that kind of pain after such a brutal life.

_I'm going to die..._

Keep pushing, a disembodied voice urged him, just a little more!

Screaming from the pain as he forced himself back onto his feet, Vegeta concentrated and tried to focus any dregs of energy he had left to spare, eyes locked on the meteor and desperate to charge up an attack that could at least break the meteor apart into smaller pieces before it hit the ship.

"C'mon," he wheezed, "m-m-must..."

He found a tiny speck of energy deep within him and channelled it to begin moving through his body. His pounding heart worked a little harder, and he forced himself to keep breathing, unable to do more than pant like an animal.

For the rest of Vegeta's days, he would fail to find the words to accurately describe what happened next: the feeling of a cataclysmic force ripped through every muscle fibre in his body, his vision went white, and he caught the sound of himself screaming in a voice that pierced through the air like a rocket. A ripple of golden light surrounded him, and instantly his vision grew sharper and a new wellspring of energy sprang up and filled his body. Focus crystal clear, Vegeta locked onto the meteor and sent out a telekinetic attack so violent that the huge rock turned to dust before it had time to make contact with the ship, and the heavy clouds overhead vanished in an instant.

Three seconds later, Vegeta fell to his knees and did not move for many minutes, trembling too violently to consider the ten steps between him and the ship.

When he did get back up, Vegeta cautiously watched the skies and waited for more thunder. Above him, the sky was black and studded with twinkling stars. He unlocked the door to the ship and crawled back inside, so exhausted from his ordeal that he would have happily curled up and died at that moment. Instead, Vegeta forced himself to look himself over in a mirror, certain his face was badly cut.

It was only when Vegeta recognized his reflection in the mirror that he saw the transformation: standing tall and upright, skin glistening with sweat and streaked with blood, Vegeta had turned into a blonde-haired Super Saiyan with light turquoise eyes. Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans, was finally a Super Saiyan; a miracle in his darkest moments of terror and desperation.

Vegeta was far too spent to celebrate or even scream, despite his massive shock and utter disbelief that he'd just survived a literal meteor shower. He sighed once more, smiled at his blood-streaked reflection, and shuffled into his bedroom, where he collapsed on the mattress and instantly fell asleep.

When he awoke a few hours later, body still aching, Vegeta realized the lights had turned back on and the port-hole windows were no longer protected by steel shutters. He rolled off the mattress and stood upright, unable to walk normally after all his exertion, and turned on the computer. The navigation screen loaded but flickered on and off. When the screen went blank, Vegeta saw that his hair and eyes were dark once more.

His head was still fuzzy. Vegeta felt like he had woken up the day after a huge, joyful celebration, and the fact that he had finally realized the legend left him with a constant smile on his face.

"Computer!"

"W-W-W-W-welllll-cooome to Caaapp-sule Corp Inn- _ **ksshhh**_ -stellar Travel! Plea- please- please input comm- comm- ** _kshhhhhhh_** -nd."

"Computer! Initiate countdown to take off!"

"COMMAND REC-REC- REC- _**KSHHHHH!**_ **_KSHH! KSHH! KSHHH!_** TW- **_KSSSHHHHHH_** \- NE!"

The ship took off from the strange planet and Vegeta headed back into space. With his navigation system barely functional and computer slow to respond, Vegeta searched for a pencil and paper to record his coordinates. His ship may have been damaged, but it still worked, and the Saiyan would not let such a minor problem defeat him. He would press on into space and find somebody to fix his ship before deciding what to do next.


	59. Full Circle

_As Vegeta's pod approached Planet 79, his pulse quickened and he moved fast in order to secure the respirator over his nose and mouth. A communication screen above his head flashed and ordered him to prepare for a hard landing._

_He caught the scent of a fast-acting sedative in his mask and knew his body was about to go limp. Secured into his deep chair with the help of a heavy harness, Vegeta could do nothing but wait for the inevitable crash. He only hoped his pod's navigation system would manage to direct him towards the actual landing pad and not towards the surrounding concrete and steel structures._

_Limbs as heavy as iron, the Saiyan watched with horror as he plummeted towards the landing pad. His pod had turned itself around and the window was set to make contact with the ground. Then, he was upside down. As it got closer, he squeezed his eyes shut in time to hear a horrible crunch and feel the brutal force of his pod smacking the steel railing circling around the landing pad before actually hitting the pad. Although restrained in the harness, Vegeta's body was shaken like a rag doll's, and he heard the wet snap of his collarbone breaking. He hung upside down, unable to move or speak._

_When Vegeta opened his eyes, his vision had gone red._

" _Keep your eyes shut! Keep 'em shut!" A muffled voice ordered him from outside the badly damaged pod, and he heard the crunch of glass breaking and the scrape of metal as the bent door was forced open._

_He felt himself dropping into somebody's arms before he was laid out on a springy surface._

" _Somebody get medical here immediately!" The voice was clearer now, throaty and feminine at the same time. Somebody was working with calloused hands that were huge and heavy and strong. Groaning from the pain, he managed to crack an eye open before realizing his vision had gone red because he was bleeding profusely. Had his eyes been damaged? He could swear one of them strung and burn terribly._

" _My eyes! My eyes!" He began, daring to move his arms before the agony of broken bones caught up with him and he forced himself to remain still. Vegeta sensed he was laying on the landing pad._

" _Where the hell are the medics?!" The woman's voice was getting angry. Vegeta had started whimpering, terrified he'd gone blind for good._

_"They're coming, girl! Keep it together! We've got pods 242-J and 653-S landing in two minutes, so you'd better get that Saiyan off the landing pad!"_

" _Those pods are designated to land on pads 5 and 7! We've got an injured solider on pad 3, and I am not prepared to move him!"_

_"Then you have twenty seconds, girl!"_

_The siren of a medical transit vehicle filled the landing bay. Vegeta felt himself being practically thrown onto a stretcher. The calloused hand met his and he squeezed it for a split second before being whisked away into an ambulance._

_Then there was the feeling of warm, viscous liquid surrounding his body. A tube went down his throat, which he always hated. A small respirator system was inserted into his nostrils and taped into place before he became completely submerged in what felt like gel. Vegeta surrendered to the velvety, warm darkness and lost all sense of time._

_Twenty hours later, Vegeta left the hospital, dressed in a fresh new uniform and his mood particularly sour. He had not gone blind, but the doctors had been unable to prevent a fine scar from forming across his face. Apparently his face had been badly cut up by shattered glass, and he was lucky to have made it out without losing an eyelid or the tip of his nose._

_As he'd been getting dressed, a nurse had advised Vegeta that his comrades were already at home and waiting for him to return. The prince responded to this bit of information by rolling his eyes and hissing at the nurse._

_The day was hot and the air was sticky. After enjoying the artificially cooled air of the medical centre, Vegeta wasn't enthusiastic about making his way home on foot. Flying was forbidden on Planet 79 (unless one had express permission to do so) and taxis tended to be very expensive. He wanted to take the train, but he couldn't get a new transit card without a guardian. Having just turned fourteen, Vegeta was subject to strict spending limits while on leave, and sometimes a ride in a luxury taxi (the prince refused to take public taxis) could eat up more than half of his daily limit, which meant he wouldn't be able to order all the food he could typically eat in a single setting._

" _Hey!" A throaty voice called out to Vegeta as he made his way down the street._

_Vegeta ignored the voice. Probably a beggar or club promoter, he thought, either way I've got nothing for them._

" _Hey, kid! Stop! I wanna talk to you!" The voice was louder this time and approaching quickly._

_Vegeta whipped around, preparing himself to strike down an assailant, and instead froze in place when he realized there was a tall woman approaching him. She did not appear threatening, and after finding himself frozen, Vegeta finally realized he recognized that voice. Had she been present at his crash-landing?_

_He started moving again, assuming a powerful stance. Right hand still aching, he forced it into a tight fist and grimaced. "What do you want?" He started, looking her up and down for any obvious weaknesses. He set his scouter to do a quick scan and his eyebrows rose when the reading on her attack power came up as 575. Not bad, he thought, especially for a civilian..._

" _Hey, I'm not trying to fight you!" She brought her hands up and flashed a big smile, "I saw your crash and wanted to see if you were alright, that's all..."_

" _Uh-huh," Vegeta managed to look her in the eye, surprised by her height, "I came out alright. Now, I must leave. Good bye," he turned around and set into a brisk walk._

" _Wait!" She easily caught up with him in about five steps, "let me buy you lunch. Are you hungry? I'm starving!"_

" _Fuck off!" Vegeta didn't turn around this time._

" _I've got your pod, kid! And your little pack, too! I was gonna show you what happened but I wanted to grab something to eat first, that's all!"_

_The Saiyan stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Had she been the one to pull him out?_

" _Alright. This had better be a good meal..."_

_An hour later, Vegeta found himself sitting in a tiny restaurant with this towering woman named Malar, who was rather funny and quite knowledgeable when it came to pods. She had insisted he order a dish consisting of thin noodles, a pungent green sauce, grilled sea insects, a large fried bird's egg, and chopped vegetables, and to his surprise it was absolutely delicious. He wound up ordering the same dish again, requesting two additional eggs and more vegetables._

" _Come by my shop and I'll show you the work on your pod. As weird as it sounds, Vegeta, your accident helped me prove a point to Frieza and his henchmen about your specific line of pod presenting frequent and pretty serious problems. What really hammered it in is that your kind of pod is really popular with elite soldiers..."_

" _Oh, so that means Frieza will be inclined to actually give a fuck is what you're saying," Vegeta dug into his second bowl of noodles, grinning when he broke open the still-runny egg yolk._

" _That's one way of putting it," the woman called Malar responded immediately._

_Vegeta cracked up laughing and had to set down his thin metal eating sticks."Anyway... you must have met my comrades after I was dragged off the landing pad, yes?"_

" _Oh yeah," Malar rolled her eyes, "the tan one with that damn ponytail had a bit of a hard landing himself, but the emergency airbag system deployed on-time and he made it out in decent enough shape to start soliciting me for sex when he was waiting for your other comrade. Maybe the landing messed with his head?"_

" _Eugh!" Vegeta's nose wrinkled with disgust at the thought of bothering a woman that way. He didn't understand why Raditz was always interested in having sex. It was disgusting! "My partner Raditz is an idiot! The landing didn't do shit to his already-scrambled brains. Did he at least stop bugging you? I'll kick his ass if he didn't... believe me, I can!" Vegeta took another bite of egg and noodle, totally loving his meal._

" _That won't be necessary. He didn't seem to get the hint so I kicked him in the balls."_

_The Saiyan cracked up and quickly spat his food into his napkin so he could laugh without choking to death in the process._

* * *

After a week and a half of travel, Vegeta not only had his bearings, but he was in the process of docking at a small station. It was a typical commercial place, catering to all sorts of travellers seeking a place to eat, visit a doctor, watch a movie, and interact with other lifeforms. PTO soldiers were not unwelcome at commercial space stations, but their presence did tend to make people wary.

His communications panel was pretty much gone. He could make outgoing calls, but they were dropped seconds after a connection was established. Incoming calls never connected, and the signal sounded strange on the speaker system. All the screens kept flickering. The lights worked, but the microwave in his kitchenette was effectively dead.

When Vegeta docked his ship and disembarked, he wasn't entirely surprised when an attendant avoided his gaze and tried to make himself scarce.

The first place he went was a crowded, brightly lit pub. While he was recognized, nobody seemed intent on confronting him. The woman serving him was attractive and remarkably cheerful, and it left Vegeta in a rather good mood. He ate four different kinds of meat and gorged himself on fresh vegetables, drank a large bottle of light-bodied wine, and finally finished his meal with a plate of sugared fruits. After all he had been through, Vegeta deserved a good meal.

Next, stomach very full and a bit tipsy from the wine, the Saiyan went to a shop and absentmindedly browsed the selection. He spotted bottles of the delicious fruit liqueur he'd always enjoyed and requested four. With the knowledge that he had so much money on his ghost card, Vegeta purchased a variety of snacks some would classify as "junk food", jars of preserved fruit, bags of dried meat, a heavy blanket, and a large first aid kit to supplement the medical supplies he already had.

"Tell me," Vegeta watched the petite shopkeeper as she nervously wrapped up his purchases, "is there a mechanic on this station?"

Wide-eyed, the shopkeeper shook her head and gently set his bottles of liquor in a canvas bag. "Not a good one here. Is your ship functional, sir?"

"Yes. How far until a _good_ mechanic?"

"Ah!" She stopped wrapping his food and brought up a holographic screen. "Let's see here," she typed in a series of coordinates and brought up the location of the station they were aboard, "here's us," she pointed to a red circle on her screen, "but if you travel to quadrant four, section three of this place... um, coordinate number 7972-XYG, you'll be in the vicinity of a place called White Star. I don't if they're still there, but I've been told there's somebody who can help you out. A good mechanic, as you say. You don't wanna get service here, sir. Just being honest..."

"Honesty's the best policy when your life is on the line..." Vegeta leaned over the counter and looked at the screen, taking in the image and memorizing the coordinates. It would take perhaps three days to reach this next station, and Vegeta was willing to take the risk.

Weighed down by packages, Vegeta boarded his ship and set out into deep space once more.

White Star, as it turned out, was like a large docking bay attached to a tiny station. He was surprised to find the docking bay mostly empty, aside from a random collection of ships and vehicles, some obviously disabled while others were in perfect condition.

Inside the station, he found an empty shop, darkened mechanical bay, and a large, clean restaurant. It wasn't too busy, just enough patrons to give the place a sense of life; likely soldiers or other travellers just wanting to take a break from travel and enjoy a good meal. It was air conditioned and bright, and small television sets played an episode of some Galactic Standard soap opera, providing just enough white noise to make all conversations indistinguishable.

There was something about the place that made Vegeta feel like he'd been there before, and he couldn't figure out why.

Vegeta took a booth in a back corner and pulled out the menu card. It was standard diner fare for the most part; small cuts of meat with (relatively) local vegetables and some kind of dipping sauce, noodles in bone broth or pungent sauces (which could be questionable) with toppings, breads, ground meat dishes, and fruit selections. His stomach rumbled, and Vegeta began to wonder why somebody hadn't greeted him yet.

"I'll be with you in a moment!" A tall woman with her back turned to Vegeta prepared cocktails at the bar. Was this woman working in the restaurant by herself? There was something very familiar about her raspy voice... still, bad service was inexcusable...

He resumed looking at the menu card and only looked up as the woman approached. She was tall and curvaceous, dark-skinned, with a beautiful face and weary grey eyes. Vegeta's mouth dropped open when he realized who she was, and the woman in turn stopped dead in her tracks and the thin tablet she was carrying in her right hand tumbled to the floor.

"...Malar?!"


	60. The Catch Up

The woman burst out laughing, picked up her tablet while keeping her eyes locked on Vegeta, and as she rose to her full height she leaned forward and studied his face. When she reached out with calloused fingertips to trace the fine scar, as wide as a thread, that ran from the middle of his left cheek, across the bridge of his nose, and finished just below the orbit of his right eyeball, Vegeta knew it was her.

"It really is you," she breathed, her brows raised in surprise, "Vegeta..."

"After all these years..."

"Stand up, let me take a look at you," she urged him out of his seat and motioned for him to turn around for her, which Vegeta did without thinking twice despite feeling very awkward in the process, "oh my god! Look at you! You're all filled out and all grown up!"

The Saiyan felt his face getting hot, and for a brief moment he felt like a teenager again. He looked her up and down, finding he was still fond of her body and beautiful features. "You look incredible," he muttered, "I don't think you've aged at all..."

Malar giggled and kept studying the Saiyan. "I see you've only refined your ability to charm... you must be in your thirties now, yes?"

"I'm going to be thirty four soon."

"My god," Malar continued staring at him, her smile never fading, "you grew up into a very handsome man."

Vegeta looked at his menu card again, desperate to hide his burning face. "You're going to have to fill me in on how you wound up here. After fifteen years, I'm sure you have one hell of a story."

"Likewise, Vegeta. Can I get you a drink?"

"Only if you join me, Malar. I'm also hungry as hell, by the way. That's one thing that hasn't changed!"

She laughed, rose from the booth, and went to speak with her other customers. "Look, you lot," she spoke to her customers in a clear, low voice, remaining cordial but insistent, "your meals are free if you get out of here now. I have important business to attend to."

A few of the other patrons in the restaurant caught the sight of Vegeta sitting alone at a booth, put two and two together, and all readily agreed to head out. Ten minutes later, the entire restaurant was empty, and three small ships made a point of leaving the docking bay as fast as they could reasonably manage.

"Finally," Malar sighed with relief when she saw the last ship pass by the thick glass window, "some peace and quiet! Anyway, Vegeta, about that drink..."

"Oh, yeah," Vegeta rose from the booth and literally hopped over the bar, "let's see what we're working with here! And you'd better not disappoint me!"

They wound up concocting a large pitcher of something deliciously potent that consisted of fruity wine, strong and sweet liquor, a splash of a bitter citrus-like juice, a sweet and fizzy juice popular within PTO-controlled areas, all mixed together and served over crushed ice in very large glasses. Vegeta had been introduced to the drink in his late teen years and he still liked how it tasted. Both drinking, they agreed to put some frozen flat breads Malar had prepared into a hot oven and ate them with bowls of different sauces. Although it was light food, Vegeta was totally satisfied with what he was served.

"So is this your restaurant? I knew you were a decent cook, but this is something else..." Vegeta dragged a scrap of hot bread through a smear of creamy white sauce that carried an unexpected spicy kick and popped it in his mouth.

"This entire station is mine. I own and run the restaurant and the repair shop," Malar beamed at him, "I had to save up for seventy five years, but this is mine! All mine!"

Vegeta struggled to keep a straight face. He realized he had no idea how old Malar was, and he had always assumed she was about ten to fifteen years his senior. "Please tell me you still repair ships..."

"Of course I do! Damn, Vegeta, that's still my livelihood! I love working on ships. It makes me feel fulfilled. This restaurant just gives people incentive to stop here, and I can usually sweet talk somebody into letting me run a diagnostic on their ship. Sometimes I find an issue on-board or make a minor repair while they're eating, and they're always so happy to spend a little extra here once their bellies are full of decent food. Almost all of the food I make undergoes very long, slow cooking, which means I can work on a ship for four or five hours and give it my undivided attention. I don't bother with anything fancy here."

"Thank God! At some point, I'm going to need you to look at my ship. It's fucked up. I can and will pay you. But we can talk business later. Now, I must know how you came to own your own fucking station within PTO territory."

Malar nodded. "Of course I'll look at your ship. _Later_. Geez... where do we begin, Vegeta? The last time we spoke, I had been ordered to work on Frieza's then-new transit ship. I was the boss when it came to repairs and managing the fleet of ships on-board, which actually did a lot of good for my reputation despite the fact that the job was an absolutely miserable endeavor. The job was a five year contract, and I hated it from day one. People get _weird_ on those ships. I'm so glad that one of Frieza's henchmen taught me to better defend myself, because some of those soldiers can't handle being around a woman who isn't in the process of taking their clothes off. Anyway, when my contract was up, I found myself on Planet 56, with a ton of money, no job lined up, and nothing going on to occupy my time... anyway, on Planet 56, I wound up bartending at different clubs for a little over a year. It was something to do, I had a lot of fun, and I met some interesting people. Along the way, I met a man who was a..." her deep skin seemed to glow a little warmer, "we were very close for a long time. About eight years ago, I heard that this station was for sale, and I had so much money saved up, that I decided to leave Planet 56 and head here, and I've been here ever since, serving meals and fixing ships. The man in my life supported it. It hasn't always been very easy out here, but the work really is rewarding. Not to mention, I get to meet some very interesting people! Well... that's what I've been up to the last seventeen or eighteen years of my life, whatever it's been. So... how about you, Vegeta?"

Vegeta digested her words, unable to stop studying her features, desperate to commit them to his memory. "Well... I..." his voice quivered and he wondered if he was even capable of reviewing all those years since she had told him she was leaving. For a moment, Vegeta felt like a lonely sixteen year old boy all over again.

"Things have not been good. You left, and I continued my life as a well-paid but highly-controlled contract killer. Frieza had me in charge of massive drug and weapons runs, countless purge missions, I worked as a body-guard, an assassin, I was in charge several of high-security deliveries, a few dozen times I did negotiations on Frieza's behalf, once or twice I worked as an "enforcer" on overcrowded transit ships. The years of work have blurred together with hard living and strict training. My life was on a loop for years and years and years, and when I haven't been working, I've made my body stronger. That's about it..."

Malar's smile did fade, but Vegeta noticed she shook her head a little. "It seems you have become a very successful person in your own way. Working life is not always particularly enjoyable, but you must persist if you wish to progress, you know? And you became social enough to, uhhh, "party", which says something. You became one of Frieza's top soldiers, and wasn't that one of your goals?"

"I was and I still am an elite soldier. I defected from Frieza's ranks about five years ago. Fuck the Planet Trade Organization."

The mechanic responded to this by spitting her drink all over the floor, making the conscious effort to move lest she accidentally spit in the notorious Saiyan's face. He may have been friendly with her, but Malar knew of his sadism and unstable temperament. "Holy shit! I heard some rumours, but I never..."

" Oh yes, the _rumours_ ," Vegeta took a long sip of his drink, feeling the effects of the alcohol, "I think the generally accepted story is this: first I had defected, then I was destroyed by Frieza, and then I was alive once more... I don't blame you for being unsure of what to believe. To tell you the truth, I found the story that Frieza had ripped out my heart pretty unbelievable too."

Malar laughed under her breath and refilled her glass. "You've done a lot more that you're letting on, aren't you?"

"Of course. The things I've done would make your head spin, Malar, and I'm not just talking about my now-former line of work."

The mechanic slammed her palm against the table, causing the plate of bread and bowls of sauces to rattle a little. "Okay, now you've gotta start talking! You got a new job?!"

"Not exactly," Vegeta took another sip of the delicious cocktail, "I wound up spending a few years, for the most part I mean, living quietly on a planet called Earth. You could say I've gone into semi-retirement, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. And that's just the fucking tip of the iceberg. My life has been interesting to say the very least, and the things I've done over the years..."

"You can't have done anything drastic enough to shock me, Vegeta. Your reputation certainly is as colourful as it is widespread. So you retired? Big deal."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and snickered. "Not exactly. Much more shocking."

"Oh, whatever! Let me guess... you fooled around with Raditz?"

" Ugh, I did do that! Why is that the first thing you think to ask, anyway? You've got a dirty mind, woman! It's not like we ever _liked_ each other, though, so don't you dare judge me. It was just to burn off some steam and to get off, so I don't know what you call that. But he's been dead for several years now, so it doesn't really matter now."

Malar managed to get some of her drink up her nose and winced at the burn of alcohol. "What?!"

"Killed by his own brother and a Namekian. Turns out there was one more Saiyan out there after all, and when Raditz went to retrieve him, things didn't go so well. Intrigued by this, I travelled to the planet where the final Saiyan was residing..." he sighed and the memory of his own dying fluttered through his surface thoughts, "...and I wound up spending a great deal of time on that planet as well."

The tall mechanic accepted this story. After a few minutes, she decided to try for more information. "What about your bodyguard, Nappa?"

"He's dead too. I dispatched him after he suffered a debilitating spinal injury in battle."

"So it was a mercy killing, then?" Malar refilled her glass one more time.

Vegeta was very quiet for several minutes. "I guess it was, in some sense. A lifetime of paralysis would be unacceptable for any Saiyan warrior. He deserved to die at any rate."

The mechanic did not respond.

"Did you hear about Frieza?"

Malar looked up from her glass, weary eyes shiny with tears. "No..."

"Frieza is dead. So are Zarbon and Dodoria."

The towering mechanic let out a mournful sigh and shook her head. "That explains it, then..."

Vegeta scoffed. "Explains what?"

The Saiyan's question was enough to set Malar over the edge, and her eyes overflowed with tears in the span of two seconds. She turned her face away from Vegeta, took the rest of her drink as a long shot, wiped her eyes, and began telling a story that would leave the Saiyan stunned:

"I've worked on this station for eight years. The first three and a half, maybe four years, things were incredible, Vegeta. Business was booming: I made so much money that I didn't know how I could ever spend it all, and I had a staff of twelve. Not only was I happy, but I was also really content with life after spending five years on a miserable transit ship. I honestly thought about expanding this place and adding on a small lodging area for people who needed major repairs done to their ships. Not only that, but the man I'd met on 56 had become one of my finest employees and a valuable business partner. I was actually expanding my reach into the interplanetary courier sector. We were really close... we were discussing marriage. I loved him, and he loved me. And he was _gorgeous_. The plan was to work a few more years aboard the station together before we sold the place and found somewhere to live together.

Then things started going downhill. Frieza's presence always guaranteed protection. Business has been, or had been... incredible. I had a lot of people working for me. Saw a lot of trade. I built and shipped custom parts, repaired and restored all sorts of spacecraft and personal transit vehicles. Once Frieza died, and I'm guessing this happened about three or four years ago now, and his presence became a bit less perceptible, things started getting bad. Trade slowed down a lot and nobody could give me a good reason why things were so slow. We were first hit by a group of pirates about two... maybe two and a half years ago? They killed several patrons and managed to steal a great deal of money from one my accounts. There was another group of pirates that hit this place, but thankfully they just wanted money. And then, after one of my couriers was attacked mid-transit and apparently murdered when he landed at a station for medical help... oh, I lost one of my best connections! I was sending an order of custom made radiator resistors to a specialty manufacturer, and when they didn't show up they were furious! They haven't ordered any parts from me since then, and I don't know what to do because nobody will work as a courier for me now! Half my staff left after my courier was murdered, and the other six I forced myself to let go because I didn't want them to get hurt! My reputation is in ruins! And to make things worse, we were attacked by pirates again about six months ago, and since that we've had fewer and fewer customers because my name's synonymous with robbery, or... _and_ death. If I don't get some major business soon..."

She broke down in sobs, covering her face and doubling over in her chair. Vegeta watched her cry, offering no comfort. He didn't know what to feel, but he did realize that he was directly responsible for Malar's sadness and suffering.

After five minutes of crying, Malar pulled herself together and heaved a sigh, her nose too clogged up to work normally. "I don't know what to do... the only thing I think I can do is try and keep this place up and running with what little money I have left... moving everything would cost too much... I suppose I could re-locate to Planet 79? Have you been 'round there lately, Vegeta? It's the last place I wanna go now, but I'd get hired at any shop there in no time."

Vegeta mentally prepared himself for what he was about to say. "Malar," he grimaced, "I need you to repair my ship. It's all electrical work. No special parts needed, I think. And believe me, I can pay you. I have a lot of money."

Malar stared at him with her eyes swollen from crying and nose still running, and reluctantly nodded. "Show me what's wrong. I'm drunk and depressed but could probably run a diagnostic and give you an estimate.


	61. Change Remains the Same

_Exhausted from a full day at the fitness center, Vegeta locked his bedroom door and dragged himself into the washroom to take a hot shower before retiring to the comfort of his bed for an evening._

_He could barely stand in the shower, eyes fluttering shut more than a few times as the firm spray of hot water hit his shoulders and ran down his backside. Vegeta had trained by himself for close to four hours. After his training, Vegeta had challenged several soldiers to spar, and he had won every single fight within three thirty second rounds._

_The Saiyan prince was twenty seven years old and he was just beginning the long prime of his life. He had reached his full height by that point, but his slim frame was starting to put on more muscle. His stomach had always been flat, but the youthful layer of fat he'd carried there was vanishing at a steady rate and without much effort. His once-chubby, youthful face had become defined and more masculine. Famously flexible, fast, reactive and resilient, the Saiyan's growing physical strength was only adding to his notorious reputation._

_Vegeta managed to dry himself off enough so his nightshirt didn't cling to his skin before he limped over to his bed and practically fell in once he'd pulled the blankets back._

_Two hours later, a rapping at his door pulled Vegeta out of the delicious, dark warmth he'd sunk into and back into real time, burning eyes snapping open and his jaw tightening._

_"Fuck off, I'm sleeping!" He snarled, eyes squeezing shut when his bedroom lights automatically turned on._

_"Vegeta, it's an important call," Nappa's gravelly voice was even more annoying than usual, "get up so we can respond to this in the main room."_

_Groaning, Vegeta forced himself out of bed, pulled on his thick black robe, and left his bedroom. Body aching, he shuffled into common living area he shared with Raditz and Nappa, and found Raditz seated on the couch with a burning hand-rolled joint pinched between his fingers._

_"It's Zarbon," Raditz warned, taking a final puff before setting his joint in an ashtray and resuming the call. As he resumed the call, he ducked out of sight for a split second to exhale the smoke he'd been holding._

_"Finally! Why do you delay me so, Vegeta?" Zarbon lazily tossed his thick braid behind his shoulder as he studied the three Saiyans in their apartment._

_"Sleeping," muttered Vegeta, rubbing sleep from the corner of his right eye, "what do you want, Zarbon? Make it fast so I can get back to bed."_

_"Why must the three famous Saiyans be so snippy," Zarbon pointed to Vegeta, "stupid," he pointed to Nappa, "and stoned?" He finally gestured at Raditz, "I did not call you lot in the hopes of being put on hold for close to ten minutes while you figured out which way is up! I'm actually working right now while you sit on your asses."_

_"My apologies for the delay, Sir," Nappa managed to speak before Vegeta could open his mouth to retort, "how may we be of assistance?"_

_"I'm just letting you three morons know that your shore leave is being cut short by one week. Frieza wants you to accompany a high-security delivery. Enjoy your remaining three weeks, boys, and do take care to get your heads straight before reporting for duty."_

_The call disconnected. All three of them groaned with annoyance. Raditz switched the television back to a regular broadcast and resumed smoking. Nappa said something about going out to see a movie and wandered out of the living room. Shaken out of his sleepy state, Vegeta took a seat on the couch and absentmindedly watched the television screen, not really taking in anything around him. I need to find a way out of this life, he thought, or I'm going to go totally insane or be dead in five years._

_"I'm sick of this," he spoke up, voice gravelly and monotonous, "I'm real tired of this."_

_"Then change the channel," Raditz was rolling another joint, "it's cool if you want to watch something else."_

_Vegeta glared at Raditz through narrowed eyes and hissed with annoyance. "No, you idiot. I'm sick of dealing with fucked up people and their fucked up demands. Why the fuck am I still answering to others? It's all bullshit. I need to work for myself and myself only."_

_"Oh, it's not that bad," Raditz sealed his joint shut and waited for it to dry, "you're just getting into one of your little serious moods again. Deliveries are fun, man! We pick up a fucking package, take our share if it's something fun, and drop it off wherever we're needed. C'mon, have some of this," Raditz paused to light his smoke and took a puff before passing it to the younger Saiyan, "you need to mellow out."_

_The Saiyan prince took a long drag, held the smoke inside until he couldn't stand it, and exhaled. Almost immediately he felt like the couch became bigger and deeper, while the television screen pulled away. "So what are you doing with your night, Raditz?"_

_"Waiting on a bitch to get over here," the elder Saiyan took his joint back and smirked, "you don't even need to pay 'em if you're willing to pretend you like them and make it something consistent with 'em when you're on shore leave. Honestly, it's good economic sense to just dig out one girl. The main drawback is the bitch likes to eat and I've gotta feed her, but whad'dya gonna do?"_

_"And with your eloquence and charm, what bitch wouldn't want to invest all her time in you, Raditz?" Vegeta rose from the couch, feeling a bit dizzy, and decided he would return to bed._

_"And people say that you're the smart one," Raditz took another drag of his joint, "ah ha ha ha ha!"_

* * *

The interior of this ship Vegeta had arrived in stunned Malar, who toured through it with her expression brightening minute by minute and her lips spreading apart into huge grin of childlike wonder.

"This ship is incredible, Vegeta! Wherever did you get such an incredible vehicle?"

"On planet Earth. One of the Earthlings... uh, they're known as _homo sapiens_ , built and designed it. But even the ship's architect told me this kind of ship is very advanced for their species. They've just barely gotten into space at this point. The fact that one designed a ship capable of interplanetary travel is a fucking fluke."

"Easy with the cursing, Vegeta," Malar inspected the electrical panel closely and retrieved a small screwdriver from her shirt pocket, "hmmm, it looks like something inside your electrical panel has shorted out..." she pulled the large cover off the panel to reveal a maze of circuits and multicoloured wires, "... _wow!_ This is something else. You must be very good friends with the person who designed this ship, if they went to this much effort."

Vegeta smirked. "Oh, you could say that..."

After ten minutes of poking around the ship, inspecting panels and the condition of the interior walls, Malar decided the problem was likely electrical.

"The good news is, I think that I can fix this in a day or two," Malar put her screwdriver back in her pocket, "but the bad news is that I'm in no state to start working on this ship right now. C'mon, I'm hungry!"

Vegeta retrieved one of the bottles of fruit liqueur he had picked up at the last station he'd visited and followed Malar off the ship. They went through the repair shop and into a secluded area Malar had turned into her private living area.

She had a small lounge with two long seats, a wide, low table, and colourful tapestries covering the walls and ceiling. She noticed Vegeta opening the bottle he'd carried with him and fetched two small glasses. Glasses set on the table, Malar picked up the bottle, took a sniff of the liquid inside, and decided to try some of it. "Very nice stuff, Vegeta. You have good taste."

"Thanks," Vegeta watched as Malar filled his glass and topped up her own, "I missed this stuff."

"The people you met on that planet don't have alcohol?"

"Nothing like this," Vegeta took a small sip, "but they're certainly advanced enough to know how to distill alcohol. Really, the things I've been up to would shock you."

Malar smirked. "Try me."

After a minute of consideration, he decided to reveal some of his life: the grind of missions and travel and erratic schedules and hard living, his constant training, the isolation, and his seemingly spontaneous decision to defect from Frieza's army after spending years plotting his ascent through the ranks before taking Frieza's position for himself. About losing a battle on Earth, and after pausing for a long moment, he decided to tell her that he'd been compelled to return to the planet after seeking medical attention and had spent more than three years there.

He did not tell her about the Dragonballs or of his brutal death at the hands of Frieza. She did not need to know about that, he decided, Malar would try to get involved and I'd have to kill her.

Malar didn't seem particularly surprised by this. She continued drinking and mulled over his words. He'd been through a lot of abuse in his short life. Nobody could come out of what he'd been through without serious psychological scarring. "You have yet to truly shock me, Vegeta."

"Okay," he took a larger sip of his drink, "I saw Frieza die. He was chopped up into bits and burned to dust," the corners of his mouth turned up and he laughed.

The mechanic's large brown eyes widened with shock and she seemed to look through Vegeta, swallowing a hard lump in her throat, "you can't be serious..."

"I saw it with my own eyes. My _own_ eyes. Smelled his flesh burning up. I'm really free now, and I can do whatever the fuck I want. I recuperated well outside PTO territory and actually spent close to two and a half years on the planet called Earth, getting stronger than ever and eating a lot of delicious food and sleeping for as long as I wanted and fucking this incredible-looking woman..." he sneered and ran his tongue across his teeth, "...and basking in the sun for hours on end. A small family took me in for some reason, and I've been living goddamn king!" He cackled and had another drink, "everything I could want, they provided: training facilities. Food. Clothing. Entertainment. A really comfortable bed. Means to travel if I so desired. Sex. I give my protection to them, and they in turn have learned to respect my power."

"Or they fear you..."

Vegeta shrugged. "That works too. Homo sapiens are not very strong, but some of them are reasonably intelligent. The woman who built and designed the ship I arrived in is actually the mother of my child."

Malar's jaw hung open in shock before morphing into a grin tinged with disbelief. "What?! You're a father?! Uh... congratulations! Wow! That's incredible news. So th-th-that means... you found somebody compatible? I mean, it's just that I thought all the female Saiyans, you know..."

"Yeah," the Saiyan decided it was his turn to pour the liquor, "I first learned of the genetic compatibility between Saiyans and humans several years ago, oh, "human" is the more common name for homo sapiens... and after Frieza vanished, I wound up being stranded on Earth. It's a long story I'd rather not get into. The mother and her family invited me to live with them, and I did live with them for a while. But I've left twice now... once way before the kid and now..."

"Um..." Malar's eyes narrowed, "why? Sounds like you had a pretty nice deal."

Vegeta rolled his eyes and considered his next words carefully. Finally, he crafted what he considered to be a diplomatic response: "the mother of the child and I have serious difficulty getting along. She is aware that I chose to leave, and assured me she was capable of raising the child. She is extremely wealthy, has plenty of resources at hand, she's intelligent, and the child has decent grandparents and an extended social network available to him or her. The mother will be fine and I do trust her enough to raise the child properly for at least a few years. To be honest, I really don't want anything to do with the kid. My plan right now is to see the thing through adolescence, seeing as how... eventful that period tends to be for Saiyans, and that's about it. She'll be the superior parent in the long run. I'm not cut out to nurture some infant. I think the kid's an infant. She was pregnant not all that long ago. I can't be around a baby. I've killed babies, and it fucked me up. I am very fucked up, Malar. I rarely sleep through a night without enduring some nightmare. Sometimes I think I hear voices; whether it's a hallucination or not I don't know, but I do know that I'll be better off if I don't get too involved."

Malar stared at Vegeta as though he had just spat in her face. She took several minutes to consider his words. His admission to what sounded like mental illness left her both frightened and very sad for him. Finally, she found the first words: "you left _twice_ ?"

The Saiyan merely shrugged.

"Do you really intend to return to this planet called Earth?"

"When the time is right and when I am satisfied with my progress."

Malar's expression turned very sad and she reached for her glass again. She was getting very drunk. "You have obviously changed, and yet you've remained exactly the same. Always thinking about yourself. Always pushing towards some goal beyond the reach of mere mortals. But it's always about you, and your drive, and you will not be stopped, will you?"

"No," Vegeta's reply was instant, his eyes locked on hers. At that moment he wanted to break her neck, but he sat there, seemingly stuck in his seat, reeling as he took in her words.

The mechanic shook her head with obvious disapproval. They drank in silence. A fat tear rolled down Malar's cheek.

"I miss Jabuka," she sighed, "why did he have to die? It makes no sense..."

"Used to work with him," Vegeta muttered, avoiding Malar's eyes, "took his work seriously."

Malar nodded. "I know. He told me that he knew you a long time ago... he'd settled down, you know? Jabuka had left behind all the violent work. He was going to sell his little apartment on 56 and come up here permanently. He made his money as a body guard or by working as a courier... who would go out of their way to hurt him after so much time had passed? It's all just senseless..."

Vegeta felt like he was going to be sick. He recalled Jabuka saying something similar in that dingy bar, although he had told Vegeta he was still working as an assassin. Was Malar withholding details, or did she not know all that the man had been up to?

"I'm sorry, Malar," he shoved his glass away and sighed, "the loss has obviously affected you. I'm going to sleep."

Malar rubbed her swollen eyes. "There's a guest room down the hall. Second door on the right. When you wake up, go make something to eat. I'm going to be working on the ship and I can already tell that I won't want to talk to you for a long time."

Ego stinging, Vegeta left the living area and found a small bedroom. When he shut the door and turned the lock, the sound of Malar's sobs reached him. Vegeta had heard the cries of countless grieving women, but for the first time in his life, the sound left him shaken to his core.


	62. Standoff

When Vegeta woke several hours later, he took a moment to remember where he was before rising out of bed, which was little more than a low cot with a foam pad and extra blankets to layer on top of the pad. The room itself was pretty sparse and bare; Vegeta had a narrow bed, small desk, and a single chair to work with. The only window was a port window, which looked out into a lonely expanse of space and distant planets. He pulled his clothing back on and made his way back to the main area of the small station, discovering the kitchen lit up, appliances gleaming, and the air dead silent.

The Saiyan found something simmering away in a large electrical pan, removed the cover, and took a reluctant taste. Whatever it was, it was damn good; thin cuts of meat and cut bones with marrow exposed bubbled away in a savoury broth. Vegeta scavenged for a bowl and a spoon, served himself, took a bottle of juice from behind the bar, and took a seat in a booth.

Three bowls into his delicious breakfast, Malar passed through the small restaurant and went into the kitchen, eyes avoiding the Saiyan and her hands filthy with grease and face shiny with sweat. Unimpressed with this snub, Vegeta took a final sip of the broth before entering the kitchen. He found Malar scrubbing her hands and arms underneath a spray of hot water.

"Hey," he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the counter, "what's the deal with ignoring me?"

"Huh?" Malar pulled her hands away from the water and turned off the taps, "where have you been?"

"In a booth... eating," Vegeta rolled his eyes, "where the fuck have you been?"

Malar had turned the water back on, rinsing her face with cool water and washing the back of her neck. "In the guts of that ship," she began, "I think I figured out the major issue, but now it's just getting things back to normal that I need to figure out! Hey, are you able to make outgoing calls through that big command centre?"

She fetched a bowl and spoon, served herself, and signalled for Vegeta to follow her out to his booth. Vegeta decided to find a bigger bowl, took his fourth serving, and followed her.

"Yeah. Incoming and outgoing. It doesn't connect so well with PTO lines of communication, but I just rig a scouter into one of the computer's input ports and can make a reasonably good connection."

"It certainly is a beautiful ship... but... look, Vegeta, some of your electrical panels look like they're fried. Did you pass through an electrical or magnetic storm or something? Because I can't figure out how you managed to sustain that kind of damage. The central computer is, well, I don't even know what kinda' language that thing is programmed to run, but it sounds really weird and I don't understand anything! Do you have any idea what it's saying?"

Vegeta nodded. "It's one of the Earthling languages. The humans do not communicate in any dialect of the galactic standard. Not even the really, ahem, exotic dialects..."

Malar set down her spoon. "Oh, I know that one! Ha! What kind of backwater planet did you find? _One_ of their languages? Like they have multiple languages? A planet of rubes, if you ask me. Do these people trade with other intelligent lifeforms whatsoever?"

"No. They're just beginning to develop orbiting space stations and exploring their solar system and beyond. The human who built my ship is a most unusual Earthling. So you aren't wrong about Earth being totally backwater and full of rubes," Vegeta shrugged, "but one of them managed to build a ship that interests you."

"Fair point," Malar smirked, "but I'm surprised to hear you defending these Earthlings like that."

The Saiyan growled low in his throat and had another spoonful of meat.

"So... any idea how your ship got so messed up? How long have you been having issues?"

After taking a long sip of juice, Vegeta cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You aren't going to believe me, but it all started when my ship suddenly landed on a strange planet that I'd never seen or heard of before..."

Voice and face especially animated as he regaled Malar with the story of his epic battle against the harsh elements of the mystery planet he awoke on, Vegeta spared no detail, even recalling how he'd been so desperate that he'd started to silently pray for some kind of miracle.

"...and then, there was this hot burst of golden light, and in that moment, _I_ was golden. I became a relentless brute in a most refined form. My strength grew a thousandfold, and even the clouds parted under the great weight of my new-found power!"

Malar's mouth hung open and her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief.

"I saved myself and the ship, and when there was time to spare and a cleared sky, I managed to get the ship off the ground and back into space. Although there were issues with the ship from the moment I awoke on the planet, somehow I was able to resume travel. First, I stopped off at a small station that had no mechanic, and then I found you..."

The stunned mechanic said nothing for many minutes. Finally, with a scrap of meat being ground between her molars, she spoke: "You were _dreaming_."

"I was not! It was far too tangible to be anything but a fully conscious moment. Never have I had a dream where I felt such... it was an _experience_."

Malar wasn't convinced. "Drugs."

"No! Well, maybe it was a dream..."

Malar smiled and finished her bowl of meat and marrow. "So, how about you help me out with that computer?"

"Thought you were all pissed off at me," Vegeta rolled his eyes and his upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Oh, I am," Malar scraped her spoon against her bowl, "I think you're a total asshole, but I do need an assistant for this repair. And even though I'm pissed at you right now, you're still my friend!"

" _Huh_ ," Vegeta's left eyebrow rose slightly, "alright, then. Take me to my ship."

* * *

Bulma's eyes snapped open and she rolled over to check the time on her mobile phone.

**12:58 AM**

She forced herself to get up, pulled on her housecoat, and waited for _it_ to begin. A minute later, the beginning gurgles of Trunks' nightly crying session came through the baby monitor. She groaned, pocketed the monitor, and went to his nursery. If things went well, he would fall asleep again at two thirty in the morning and sleep until six or seven.

* * *

"So the deal is this: I've figured out that I can get this thing back to normal if I re-wire your damaged electrical panels and we manage to give that damn computer a hard reboot. Whatever power source the ship runs on works beautifully, so the ship is technically functional... just... difficult to pilot given its computerized design. It really is a beautiful ship. I'd love to talk to the Earthling to built this!" Malar sat cross-legged on her platform and soldered together wires that connected into a panel.

Vegeta had sat with her an hour, handing her tools and holding onto nuts and bolts as she worked on his ship. She had the stereo on in the background and frequently sang along to songs in a language he could not understand in a rather tuneless voice.

How the mechanic had figured out what the issue was, Vegeta had no idea, but he trusted her expertise.

"So you need me to get the computer up and running normally once you've rebooted it, huh?"

"Pretty much. You're also a useful, um, helper. But right now you can make us some hot tea, because I'm thirsty and need a break! There's a sink and hot-plate in the back."

Vegeta's cheeks and neck went red with anger. "Are you suggesting I become some sort of... tea boy?!"

"Hey!" Malar did not look up from her collection of copper and various metal wires, "I'm already in the middle of something here, and my hands are covered in oil and gunk! You want grease in your tea, huh?"

Grumbling, Vegeta went to the back of Malar's huge shop to prepare some tea. He found a hot plate, stainless steel kettle, a large pot and several chipped cups, and jars of loose leaf herbs. As the water boiled, Vegeta curiously sniffed the contents of each jar until he found one that resembled the chamomile flower tea the elder female Briefs had once prepared after he'd complained of an upset stomach.

As the tisane infused with boiling water, Vegeta sat still for several minutes and tried to take stock of what was happening. What if Malar couldn't fix his ship and the computer failed to reboot? Would he be stuck on her station until he could procure a ship fast enough to bring him back to Earth in reasonable time?

Do I even want to return to Earth, he asked himself as he started to pour the tea into a large mug for Malar. As he went to fill his own cup, a deafening bang pierced the air and Vegeta dropped to the ground, instincts taking over.

He heard a blood curdling scream and knew Malar was in trouble. After giving himself five seconds to wait out another explosion, Vegeta pushed himself up onto his feet and tore through the shop to find Malar laying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by a half dozen heavily armed men, their weapons trained on her.

Vegeta swallowed a lump in his throat when he realized they were wearing life support packs and heavily insulated suits, giving them the ability to survive in outer space.

"Where's the money, bitch? Give us everything of value, or we blow out the windows!" A deep voice came hissing through the helmet of one of the men, and Vegeta decided they must have been the ring leader.

"Hey!" Vegeta snarled, slowly advancing on the men, his eyes wide and glimmering with manic energy, "what do you want here? Get away from her!"

"We want the money, food, and all tools of value on this station! Who the fuck are you?"

Vegeta moved fast enough to vanish for a split second before reappearing behind one of the smaller armed men, grabbing on hard to his helmet and jerking his head hard enough to snap his neck. He let go and allowed the pirate to drop to the ground.

The men did not seem particularly moved. Vegeta cleared his throat and decided to give them a verbal warning, just this once: "I am Vegeta, the prince of Saiyans, and you are trespassing here. This is a closed station. I strongly suggest you get away from the woman and leave now, or you will all meet the same fate as your comrade."

Malar stirred on the ground and cried in agony. Vegeta spotted a wet, dark red spot growing across her left side, soaking through her shirt, and he knew he had to move fast. When one of the armed men stepped on Malar's stomach and started to apply pressure, the Saiyan snarled and lunged forward, tackling the pirate and crushing their windpipe with an elbow.

As Vegeta killed the second of the six pirates, he did not notice one of the armed men firing his weapon into one of his ship's port windows until his victim had stopped twitching. The window shattered, and Vegeta felt his blood run ice cold.

As the Saiyan rose to his feet, anger swelling, one of the men shot at him. Vegeta deflected the pulse of energy, only realizing the error of his way when it too hit his ship, damaging the exterior wall.

"We're not kidding, asshole! We'll blow all the fucking windows out, and you and the bitch will be sucked out into outer space and die instantly! Now, where is the money?!"

"I will not give you pricks the pleasure of damaging this station _or_ threatening us. This is your final warning: leave now or die!"

The men laughed behind their helmets. One trained his weapon on Malar's head, one trained his weapon on Vegeta, and two trained their weapons on a very large window.

"What's it gonna be, princie? The money, or the bitch?"

Vegeta looked over at Malar, who looked up at Vegeta and silently mouthed something. The energy was draining rapidly from her eyes. The spot of blood on her shirt had morphed into a puddle of blood on the floor beneath her.

I'll be damned if she dies too, he thought, feeling the hot burst of energy rip through his body as he ascended to a Super Saiyan state. His vision sharpened and Vegeta jumped high into the air, watching with amazement as three pulses of energy discharged from the barrels of the weapons the pirates wielded in what felt like super slow motion.

He took the three pulses of energy head-on, seemingly absorbing the energy into a protective force field he could not recall throwing up, and then he noticed a fourth burst of energy discharging from a weapon, heading towards the large window with terrifying speed.

The pirates below only saw a streak of golden light flit around the window before they were slammed by a wave of invisible energy. Each was dead before they hit the ground, and as their helmets smacked against the hard floor, Vegeta returned to Malar and knelt by her side, desperately searching for a pulse.

"V-V-V... 'geta..." Malar gasped, "you're... golden..."

Her eyes fluttered shut and she went limp. Her breathing grew slower, chest barely rising when she inhaled. Vegeta found a weak pulse, his fingertips pressed against the side of her neck, and he knew the battle was only half over. 


	63. Pecussive Breakthrough

_Fire crackling, Vegeta picked at his rations and tried to come back down from the strange state he'd been in ever since the beginning of his shift began twelve hours prior. He'd been assigned to stand guard and monitor an extensive swath of old-growth forest surrounding one of Frieza's luxurious palaces alongside Raditz, Nappa, and Jabuka._

_Vegeta wasn't very happy that he was living with the knowledge that his assignment was set to drag on for another two weeks. They had been camping out for ten days, and Vegeta loathed every minute he was forced to sleep rough with his comrades, although he did know his comrades weren't very happy about their circumstances either. They all knew Frieza was less than five miles away, and it made everybody involved in the assignment at least try to stay on their best behaviour. After ten days, however, everybody's professional facade was beginning to crack under the weight of Vegeta's heavy-handed command._

_Vegeta had just turned eighteen and was quite happy he was legally considered an adult in all PTO-sectors. He took his new title of "Captain" quite seriously. He could rent a hotel room on his own, enter any establishment he pleased, purchase anything offered at officially sanctioned markets (that wasn't to say he didn't visit black markets), and had absolutely no educational requirements to meet, not that his schooling had ever been extensive anyway. The Saiyan prince could read and write very well, had no issues with simple arithmetic, was comfortable repairing machinery, and was remarkably skilled in debate and rhetoric when his temper didn't get the better of him. His final aptitude tests had shown the Saiyan was considerably more intelligent than the overwhelming majority of PTO soldiers and officers._

_Emerging from the woods was Raditz, his hair twisted into braids and piled on top of his head. The elder Sayian had transformed his long locks of thick, coarse hair into what looked like dozens of black ropes just before their assignment._

" _Woo-wee! It's somethin' else in that forest! Fuck, I think I got bit about eighty million times..." Raditz passed the campfire and waded into the freshwater lake several metres away, rinsing himself off before taking a seat across from Vegeta and Jabuka._

" _Ugh," Vegeta sneered at Raditz and returned his attention to his meal. He ate as slowly as possible to convince himself he could be satisfied with a single high-nutrient ration._

_Jabuka rummaged through the large canvas backpack he'd brought with him and retrieved a bottle of salve. "Here," he tossed it to Raditz, "I get bit a lot in there too. Whatever insects are in there are attracted to warm-blooded creatures, so we're all in this together..."_

_Raditz smirked at Jabuka. "Thanks, man. I'm glad we got a fourth man on this assignment who isn't a self-centred dick for a change."_

_Vegeta rolled his eyes and snorted. "Maybe you wouldn't get bit so much if you wore more than a pair of shorts designed for somebody roughly half your size..."_

_"Oh, can it, Vegeta! If you're gonna keep riding my ass like this, I'm going to make a point of riding your ass too," Raditz rubbed the salve into his legs and inspected his bug bites, "and I'm sick of you thinking you're hot shit because you got promoted to Captain!"_

_Raditz tossed the bottle of salve back to Jabuka, who responded with a silent nod of thanks._

" _You have no business calling me a dick!"_

_Raditz' tail uncurled from around his waist and the heavy brown fur covering it puffed out, making it look about three times thicker than it usually was."I wasn't calling you a dick, Vegeta! I was referring to the last asshole we worked with, who if you'll remember correctly just happened to be Cui! But if the boot fits, then you should wear it!"_

_Vegeta snarled at Raditz, his upper lip curled over his teeth. His tail thumped angrily against the ground and shook from side to side like an angry snake._

" _To be fair to Raditz, you kind of jumped the gun and assumed he was insulting you when he wasn't..." Jabuka reluctantly offered, "I've worked with Cui too, and he really is a dick!"_

_Ration finished and his stomach still painfully empty, Vegeta threw the empty packet into the campfire. "Nobody asked for you to butt into this, Jabuka!"_

_Jabuka looked away. Vegeta may have been very cunning and powerful, but he was obviously unstable, and it made the soldier nervous._

" _Hey! At least Jabuka's cool!" Raditz started to search through his own pack for some rations, displeased with his dwindling selection._

_The three men sitting around the campfire were startled by the scouter's alarm tone blasting in their ear, and all of them responded to the incoming call signal within a half second. Each heard Nappa calling for backup, having spotted suspicious vehicles some four miles from the campsite._

" _We'll be there in a bit, Nappa," Vegeta disconnected immediately while Jabuka and Raditz continued to converse with their comrade, trying to determine if Nappa was safe or if there was any immediate danger present._

" _You," Vegeta pointed at Raditz, "keep the campfire going and monitor the area. Don't you dare fall asleep, either! And you," he pointed at Jabuka, "follow me!" Vegeta jumped high into the air and waited for Jabuka to follow suit. They would use their scouters to pinpoint Nappa's exact location, but sometimes Vegeta swore he could sense a person's presence all by himself. He turned off his scouter and rushed past Jabuka, snarling at him for taking too long, and headed east to where he felt Nappa was located._

_The young Saiyan managed to pinpoint Nappa's location within two metres all by himself, and Vegeta decided he would continue to try to find others by instinct alone for the duration of the mission._

* * *

Malar gradually came to, very aware of a deep and persistent pain just above her left hip. The stereo played softly in the background. As her vision focused, she realized she was still in her shop and was laying on what felt like a firm pad. Despite her discomfort, Malar found she could move her arms normally and tried to inspect herself, curious to find out what sort of damage she had sustained.

Her shirt had been removed and she was covered by two blankets; the bottom layer being a heavy, thick blanket from the guest bedroom, and the top a brightly coloured red and blue blanket spun from a soft and glossy fibre.

Malar managed to push herself up onto her elbows and saw her skin had been scrubbed down with a disinfectant before being heavily bandaged. Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry.

She looked to the other side and discovered a steaming pot of water coming to a slow simmer on the hot plate, and a half-drunk cup of tea beside an unoccupied pile of blankets.

"Don't try to stand up," Vegeta descended the staircase leading from his ship, carrying a heavy white box with red script on it, "you'll regret it if you do."

"Hnn," Malar eased herself back to the mattress, "what happened to me?"

"You were shot with a laser gun," the Saiyan knelt beside the mechanic and opened his white box, revealing a huge selection of bandages and medications, "looks like it took a big bite outta you. The good thing is, despite your wound being nearly two inches deep, it hit a layer of fat that has to be at least an inch thick, so instead of delivering a lot damage to your organs, it mainly damaged the muscle and surrounding soft tissue instead."

Malar chuckled. "You mean to tell me that my extra weight was beneficial?"

"A high-power laser to subcutaneous fat can leave somebody with serious burns because it will cook away surrounding fat and skin, which is exactly what's happened to you. Had I been in your position, the laser may have penetrated to my intestines, and I would have been absolutely fucked. So you're right to say that your extra weight has saved your life. Are your fleshy hips a side effect of opening a restaurant?"

"Smartass," Malar smiled, "it is well-earned fat. My food is delicious and you know it."

"Ha! Well done, your own stomach has spared you certain death... at least for now, since the new challenge is managing your wound until your healing is well underway."

"Good to know," she sighed, "how long have I been unconscious?"

Vegeta moved to the hot plate and dipped a dry white facecloth into the simmering water. Moving fast, he wrung it out before wiping off his face, hands and forearms and then returned to his white box. First he rubbed his hands with a strong smelling clear gel before snapping on a pair of thin blue surgical gloves. He pulled the blankets covering Malar down past her hips, and he began removing the bandages he'd applied to her wounds.

"About six or seven hours. Maybe longer. You probably passed out due to shock, and I had to get to work on you. Turns out you weren't bleeding out as badly as I thought you were... well, you weren't gonna bleed to death, let's put it that way. So far I've managed to get the bleeding there was to stop and stay that way, so right now it's a matter of keeping your wounds clean and promoting healing."

The mechanic grimaced when Vegeta pulled out a length of blood-soaked gauze from the deepest parts of her wound. "Oh! That really hurts!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Just breathe and don't pay mind to anything you may be feeling. In... two... three..." he pulled out another length of gauze, "out... two... three..." another strip of gauze pulled out and Malar squeezed her eyes shut, panting through grit teeth.

Cool gel came next, uncomfortable tingling cold spreading through a world underneath her skin as it absorbed. She felt Vegeta's firm fingertips pressing something into her wounds and she kept breathing, although at that very moment she felt as though she wanted to vomit.

Another layer of cool spray left her wounds feeling totally numb. By the time Vegeta was taping down a final layer of heavy bandages, the pain in her side had completely vanished. With her wounds treated, Vegeta pulled the blankets back up. The entire time she'd been exposed, Vegeta had avoided her eyes.

"Do tell me you have another top."

Malar chuckled again. "You'll find my room at the very end of the corridor where the guest room you used is located. There should be something on a hook on the door. It's white, and it'll do for now. Geez, you're really embarrassed about me being topless, aren't you?"

Vegeta growled. His face went red and he went to Malar's room.

The mechanic's room was modest and neat. She kept a small selection of what looked like cosmetic products on her desk, kept her clothing hung up and displayed on a rack, and her large bed was neatly made. The port windows she did have were covered by a translucent cloth print, and her walls were decorated with signs from different planets.

He found a top hanging on a hook, just like she'd described, and brought it to her. Wound totally numb, Malar felt fine putting her copped sleeveless top on by herself. Partially covered, Vegeta resumed looking at her and studied her eyes. She was very tired, but alert and coherent. The Saiyan searched for his vials of antibiotics and painkillers and found both after several minutes, adding one tiny grain of each into a cup of warm tea.

"You must be hungry," Malar found herself growing more relaxed with each sip of tea, "have you eaten at all?"

"Yeah," Vegeta organized his first aid kits and tried to settle on his own makeshift bed, "those pirates were amphibians and had some tasty legs..."

"Eugh! So you really do eat people! And here I thought that was just some crazy rumour!"

Vegeta shrugged at Malar. "I'm a Saiyan. We tend to eat other sentient beings and animals alike."

Malar stuck out her tongue with disgust. "That's pretty wild, Vegeta. I just hope you cleaned up after yourself," she drained her cup of tea and sighed, "thank you for taking care of me. Why are you doing this for me?"

"Because I'd rather not fix this damn ship on my own," Vegeta smirked at her, "I'll hold things down for now. Just sleep, Malar."

Malar sighed again, deeper this time, and settled into her makeshift bed. "Yeah..." her eyes were heavy, "I am feeling tired again..."

Once the mechanic had fallen asleep, Vegeta returned to the ship and tried to turn it on one more time. The screen flickered between solid red and blue for several seconds before going blank again. It was Vegeta's turn to sigh.

He wandered over to the pilot's chair and dropped into it, struggling to keep the creeping worry that he was truly stranded from taking over his conscience, and in a fit of frustration he slammed his fists on the huge control panel, forcing a scream to remain in his throat and grinding his vocal chords hard in the process.

A solid panel of metal around the base of the control panel gracefully pulled out to reveal a nearly-empty storage cabinet. At the bottom of the cabinet was a three ring binder, four inches thick and stuffed with paper and additional indexes. Vegeta flipped through the binders contents and when he realized it contained the ship's blueprint and what appeared to be an infographic manual outlining basic repairs, the Saiyan's heart pounded with excitement.

As Vegeta left the ship, he turned off the lights and returned to the spot where he'd set up a place to sleep near the wounded mechanic. He found Malar fast asleep, and he settled into his own spot, quietly skimming through the contents of the binder. Satisfied with his new find (and his new-found storage space, hopeful there would be more to discover) and exhausted after so many tense hours, Vegeta shut his eyes and slipped into a shallow sleep.


	64. The Balancing Act

_With a large pizza in between their crossed legs and nearby stacks of books, Bulma and her two roommates opted to take a break from studying for their looming midterm exams and talk about something a bit more interesting: boys._

" _So what's going on with you and that cute guy from the martial arts tournament, Bulma? Haven't seen him stop by in a while..."_

_Bulma let out something close to a growl and took another slice of pizza from the box. "Oh, we're just taking a break. Sometimes we don't have a ton to really talk about..."_

_The girls were fast to move on to another subject, settling on a discussion about which movie to see after their last midterm. Bulma Briefs may have been a fun roommate, but she had a tendency to rant when upset about something, and the young heiress was prone to occasional bouts of moodiness, especially when she was stressed out._

_Late that night, exhausted from hours of studying and desperate for at least a few hours of sleep before her first exam, Bulma fell asleep on the living room couch and started dreaming:_

_Bulma sat on mossy ground, roughly two feet away from a tiny fire burning inside a hole in the ground, and she caught the sound of raindrops smacking against some type of waterproof tarp somewhere high above her head. It was nighttime, wherever she was, and the air was filled with birdsong unlike any she'd ever heard before and the cyclical hum of night insects._

_A young man with a lean and compact frame and very thick, unruly hair that looked like a flame came under the tarp and stared at Bulma, his angular eyes growing very wide and his arched brows rising with surprise, forehead partially concealed by sparse bangs crinkling just slightly. Wordlessly he sat across from her, gaze never breaking._

_Bulma stared back at him, taken aback by his appearance but also fascinated with what she saw; his eyes were so intense that she felt like his stare was burning her, and yet she was so drawn into him at the same time. He wore dark formfitting clothing, tall boots, long gloves, and what looked like a vest of armour. He was dressed for war, and even in the dark of night, Bulma swore she saw some suspicious dark spots on his clothing._

_He spoke in a language she could not understand, and with the effortless flick of a wrist he seemingly made the tiny fire flare up into a blaze for a few seconds, big and hot enough to leave her skin stinging._

_When she finally rose from her spot, fear taking over, the man stood up as well, and that's when she noticed he had a tail just like Goku's. She gasped and could not conceal her surprise, which the strange man instantly picked up on. He has features a lot like Goku's, thought Bulma, same strange hair, too!_

_His grim mouth turned up into an amused smirk and he laughed at her. He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her close, one arm wrapping around her back to hold her in like a vice and his free hand gently grasping her throat. His breath was hot and he wore thick gloves, the warm creaking leather brushing against her bare skin enough to send shivers up her spine._

" _Who are you?"_

_Bulma gasped in real life and her eyes snapped open as she sat up straight, taking a moment to catch her breath. That strange man haunted her waking hours for days after her dream._

* * *

Four days passed aboard the station without any work being done on Vegeta's ship. Malar had moved back into her room after the first twenty four hours, daring to walk by herself and by then on the road to recovery and the pain less intense, although Vegeta made a point of trying to keep her out of pain. He absolutely needed her to fix the ship, and if that meant playing the role of caretaker, he would do just that.

However, that wasn't to say Vegeta felt very odd taking care of an injured person. If he'd ever "taken care" of somebody else, it never extended beyond first aid, always delivered with a forcefully firm hand and plenty of verbal abuse. With Malar, Vegeta was much more patient, quiet, and careful to treat her gently. While she slept many for hours at a stretch, Malar also read through the huge binder that Vegeta had retrieved from the ship and drank many cups of tea during her waking hours.

Vegeta was grateful for Malar's stores of frozen food, plenty of which came packed with cooking instructions. They subsisted on thick soups and bland staples that combined well with sauces and pickled vegetables, and hot tea was always available. He wandered around the lonely station, rather bored with his surroundings, and talked himself through the unbearable moments when he wanted nothing more than to let loose and destroy everything around him.

Sometimes he needed to spend time away from Malar, concerned by his own growing sense of frustration and hopelessness. After some basic verbal instruction, Vegeta knew how to safely remove the damaged window, its frame, and the surrounding panels in preparation for repair and replacement. He cleaned the interior of his ship and got in some gentle training, testing his sense of balance and abdominal strength.

Vegeta was in the midst of another set of pushups when he heard Malar entering the shop. "Vegeta? You there?"

"Malar!" He left the ship and scowled when he saw the mechanic up and walking around, her movements slightly stiff, "you have a serious wound that needs time to heal. Go back to bed right now."

"Hey, check it out," she unbuttoned her trousers and rolled the waistband down past her hip, revealing fresh bandages, considerably thinner and lighter than the dressings required a few days prior, "it's healing up nicely! Let me get to work on the damn ship, and I'll go slow. That material you gave me sure did help! Those diagrams are well-rendered. Oh, by the way, you still have to assist me."

Vegeta's face burned red. "Obviously," he said through grit teeth, "just pull your pants up, will you?"

* * *

With Trunks down for a nap and the house blissfully quiet, Bulma lay back on the living room couch, propped her feet up, and took some time to respond to work-related e-mails she had been putting off for far too long.

After some time, her phone buzzed and she was quick to answer when she recognized the number as that of her secretary's.

"Angie! Oh, you have no idea how happy I am to hear from you!" Bulma's face spread into a huge smile as she greeted her secretary before the woman on the other end of the line could speak.

"Well, you sure do sound happy to hear from me, Bulma! How are you doing?"

"Girl," Bulma shifted on the couch and slid a pillow underneath her hips, "I love my son, but I gotta get outta the house! I'm getting bored _fast._ "

Angela, better known as "Angie", had known Bulma for six years and was slightly wary of her temperament. She took a moment to consider her words before asking her awkward question she'd desperately hoped to avoid: "so... are you saying you're thinking about coming back to work? You've got another eight and a half months of maternity leave..."

Bulma laughed a very dry laugh, almost more of a bark, and rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Full time or close to it. Start booking appointments for next week."

On the other end of the line, Angela cradled the phone with her shoulder and brought up Bulma's work schedule on her computer. "How about I open up five hours every day from Monday to Friday next week?"

"Twenty five hours? I suppose that will be alright for my first week back. Forward my schedule when it's full."

Angela confirmed and they ended their conversation. Sighing again, Bulma went to the photo albums on her phone and started scrolling through a group of photographs she had taken with Vegeta. They had been taken the fall before she became pregnant; she had actually been taking a photograph of herself when Vegeta had entered the frame, and Bulma took the opportunity to keep snapping as Vegeta leaned in to inspect her phone before realizing there was a camera. The photographs captured his surprise, suspicion, cool amusement, and a few shots showing Vegeta sticking out his tongue, winking, sneering, and puffing out his cheeks.

Bulma laughed at the photographs, recalling that she had told him they had been immediately deleted, and moved onto the next album. In the next set of photographs, Vegeta had taken her phone and snapped pictures of Bulma smiling, laughing, winking, pursing her lips, toasting for the camera with a glass of wine in hand, and a few shots that focused on her hands.

She switched to her video library, and found several short videos she had completely forgotten about.

The first video was only twenty seconds long: Vegeta had fallen asleep on the couch as he watched television with Bulma, a plate of sliced fruit on his lap and a half-full glass of water clutched in his right hand, fingers relaxing as he slipped deeper into unconsciousness.

His head began to dip, and as his chin made contact with his chest, the Saiyan lost his grip on the glass of water, which tipped over onto his lap and immediately woke him up. "Shit!" He croaked and sat up, struggling to recover the glass of water before he was completely soaked.

The last second of the video cut away to the floor as Bulma tried to stifle her giggling.

The second video had been taken with Vegeta's knowledge and consent; he was sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed and his expression quite amused. It was early morning, as evidenced by the sunlight and by Vegeta's mug of coffee.

"So," Bulma began, "what's going on this morning, Vegeta?"

The Saiyan smirked and sipped his coffee. "Nothing much... why are you filming me?"

"Why not? You look _good_ on film, damn, Vegeta! You wanna make a sex tape sometime?"

Vegeta's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets and he choked on his coffee. Again, the video cut away in a blur as Bulma giggled.

In the third video, it was obvious that Vegeta was holding the camera, and he was filming himself sitting on the roof with Bulma. The wind could be heard on the audio, and when Bulma saw herself dressed in a heavy sweatshirt and cap, she realized that video had been taken in mid-November, which both Saiyan and human had determined to be Vegeta's birth month.

"So, what's the deal with birthdays again? You really make a occasion out of this shit?" Vegeta's eyes were narrowed and he tilted the camera to capture Bulma's reaction.

Bulma smiled for the camera. "It's just a nice thing to celebrate! Plus, now we know you're a Scorpio! Soooo... happy birthday, Vegeta! Sorry I didn't get you a present, but I'm sure I can surprise _and_ please you. How old are you this year?"

The camera returned to Vegeta, who raised a brow. "I think I'm thirty two now. Sounds about right..."

The camera shook slightly as Bulma leaned in to kiss Vegeta's cheek. "Hey!" Vegeta's voice was a bit sharp. The video stopped.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Bulma set down her phone and brought her face to her hands. She desperately needed to get her mind off of everything at home and focus on work. Although the sense of guilt she felt for wanting to return to work full time was at times overwhelming, Trunks just wasn't enough to make her feel fulfilled, especially now that the father had left and was no longer in contact.

When the idea that she may have even resented Trunks crossed her mind, Bulma sobbed and curled up on the couch, drawing her knees toward her chest. Hopefully the baby would remain asleep long enough for her to pull herself back together.


	65. Sacrifice

Malar's long platform slid out from underneath Vegeta's ship and the mechanic heaved a sigh of relief. Her sweaty face was streaked with grease and she'd stuffed her damp hair underneath a bandanna. "Finally! I think that ought to do it for the electrical systems. C'mon, let's see if I got the thing up and running again!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes and followed Malar into the ship. She had taken all of a day and a half to comb through all of the electrical wiring, looking for issues to address. She switched on the first panel of lights and they immediately turned on, bright and steady and warm like Vegeta remembered.

They turned appliances on and off, and Malar's grin grew wider as she inspected her work. Everything worked. She couldn't believe her success!

Finally, the approached the computer. Malar's smile faded and she glanced over at the Saiyan. "You wanna do the honours and turn it on?"

"Whatever," Vegeta unceremoniously pushed the start button and heard the entire ship hum and come to life. The computer screen turned on and began running a colour test before the operating screen appeared. Curious, Vegeta scrolled through the menu and brought up the navigation screen, certain the ship wouldn't determine its location.

The navigation not only showed his exact location, but also calculated the estimated time required to return to Earth. He still had several months before the androids were set to show up and it seemed as though he wouldn't have any trouble making it back on-time.

And then Vegeta came realization that he was going to really going to come face-to-face with the woman _and_ the infant. Now, it was almost tangible. Heart pounding, he scrolled through the menu and checked out different programs and features he was already familiar with. Everything worked perfectly.

Malar watched the screen, eyes wide with wonder, and looked over at Vegeta, crouching down so she was eye level with him. "So... does it work?"

"Yes. I don't know how you did it, but it's perfect."

The mechanic heaved another huge sigh of relief and slowly rose back to her full height, legs shaking as she stood. She leaned against the pilot's seat and tried to catch her breath, right hand crossing over to rest against her breast and feel her own pounding heart. When she coughed and gripped the headrest of the chair, Vegeta watched in silence but struggled to find something to say. This could be a medical emergency.

"You aren't going to collapse, are you?"

Malar shook her head and wiped spit from her lips. "No," her voice was weaker, "I just gotta sit down n' ca-" she cleared her throat and gasped again, "catchmybreath..."

She guided herself into the pilot's seat, her frame too tall to sit comfortably, and then her breathing returned to a normal rate. "M'alright... Vegeta, I need you to go to my room and retrieve a bottle with a pink cap. It's on my bedside table. Bring it to me with something to drink, please."

Eyes narrowed and suspicions rolling in his gut, Vegeta wordlessly obeyed the mechanic and went to her bedroom. He discovered her bed neatly made and a small travel pack slung over the back of the chair at her small desk. On her bedside table was a small bottle of what had to be medicine, topped with a pink cap like she had described.

The label had been scratched out, leaving anybody who wasn't familiar with the contents at a loss as to what the medicine was. All Vegeta could read was a set of instructions: take 2 daily with water. Avoid excess alcohol consumption.

He brought her the bottle of pills with a bottle of water, and when she only took a half of one pill, Vegeta cleared his throat. "Ignoring doctor's orders, hmm?"

Malar rolled her eyes and finished the remainder of her water. "It's not a big deal to take one half..." she was breathing normally again and seemed to relax, "...I'll be just fine, Vegeta."

Vegeta suspected she was lying, but he said nothing. Now was not the time to confront her. He needed that ship repaired.

"So, everything inside works," Malar twisted the cap back on her bottle of water and bounced it against a thick thigh, "the next thing we'll have to look at is that damn window. The good news is that it's not a complicated job..."

The Saiyan raised a brow, awaiting the caveat in the plan. "But..." he urged her on, growing more impatient.

"You'll have to help me."

"No," Vegeta's upper lip curled over his teeth and he drummed his fingers against a smooth area of the computer's control panel, "how the fuck am I going to be helpful? I don't know jack shit about window installation, and I did you a favour by prepping the area!"

"Do you want this job finished on-time or what? We both have places to go!" Malar's eyes narrowed and she watched as the Saiyan continued to drum his fingertips, resisting the argue to swallow when she spotted rage flashing in his dark eyes, "I'm not getting any younger and I need another set of hands to ensure the window's installed correctly!" She heaved another sigh and avoided Vegeta's eyes, "there. I said it..."

The impatient finger-drumming stopped and Vegeta looked Malar up and down, trying to place her age. She _looked_ fairly young, perhaps the human equivalent of forty five years old at the most; her skin was still smooth save for a few shallow lines around the corners of her bright eyes, and there was evidence of lines around her mouth, most likely earned through countless peals of laughter. Her hair was thick and dark, her figure feminine and body well-nourished. Then, Vegeta realized that Malar had never once disclosed her age to him, nor had he ever enquired about it, and he wondered if asking a woman's age was a universal faux-pas or simply another Earthling quirk.

He cleared his throat and internally prepared himself for an argument: "how old are you, Malar? In standard PTO years..."

"Nine hundred and forty seven," she replied without missing a beat, "why do you ask?"

Vegeta felt his blood run cold. He realized his jaw had dropped open and he closed his mouth, teeth audibly clicking together. The Saiyan recalled the foolish, flighty feelings he'd experienced during teen years and suddenly felt both very embarrassed and horrified with himself for having ever felt them, and he was very grateful he'd apparently gotten over most, if not all of those feelings before their chance meeting.

Then he realized that while he found the mechanic good looking, she had never produced the sort of reaction and feelings in him that Bulma did, and now that his hormones had entered a long period of relative stability, there was absolutely no physical attraction there. He felt his face burning and knew he must have developed red cheeks.

"Uh, no reason. Just wondering what your... uh... life span might be..."

"Fifteen, maybe sixteen hundred years, if I take good care of myself. I ain't gonna live to see two thousand, though, that much is for sure. The last few years have been hard on me, if not physically, then surely mentally..." Malar looked like she was on the verge of tears for a second before she recollected herself, "but at least my face still looks good! C'mon, I need to take a break and eat something proper before we get started on your window..."

* * *

Bulma let herself in through the front door and immediately went to the nearest couch in the front room to lean against its arm so she could pull off her too-tight high heeled shoes. Sighing with relief, she rubbed the arches of her feet before continuing further into the house, stopping again at the kitchen, where she discovered her mother at the cooking range and Trunks on the kitchen table, fast asleep in his portable bassinet.

"Hi, Bulma! My handsome grandson missed his mama today! But he also ate well and finished all the fresh milk in the 'fridge, so I'm thawing out some of the surplus now."

The engineer took a seat at the table and smiled at her son. He stirred in the bassinet, opened his eyes, and his chubby face spread into a joyful smile when he recognized his mother. Squealing with happiness, he reached up to meet his mother's hands as she gently picked him up and cradled him.

"Were you a good boy for grandma, Trunkie? And you're hungry," she couldn't help but laugh as he pulled at her shirt, looking for a way to access her breast, "okay, buddy," she unbuttoned her blouse with one hand and undid the special maternity bra she forced herself to wear (she thought they weren't very stylish) to begin feeding her son, "geez, you really do have your father's appetite..."

"Speaking of Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs turned down the heat on her simmering pot of sauce and turned around to look at her daughter, "have you heard anything from him?"

"No," Bulma rolled her eyes at the mention of _that_ name, "haven't been able to make any contact with the ship for a while, either. I hate to say this, mom, but I'm beginning to consider and accept the possibility that he might be dead."

"Oh, don't say that!" Mrs. Briefs put a hand to her heart and shook her head, refusing to even consider the idea, "maybe he's just having some technical issues! I'm sure he can take care of himself..."

Bulma shrugged as best she could while not disturbing her son, "it's a possibility. Last time he tried to call here, he wasn't able to establish a connection and disconnected after a few seconds. If he's not dead, then something's seriously wrong with the ship and he's stranded, and at this point I'm alright with that."

The older woman sighed. "I hope not... I want my grandson to know his father..."

Bulma hissed with derision, a sort of wordless response she'd unconsciously picked up from Vegeta. "Maybe you should think about how the mother of your grandson feels for a change!" Before her mother could answer, Bulma stood up while continuing to cradle her son and went upstairs to his nursery, leaving her heavy briefcase and purse behind.

* * *

Belly comfortably full after several bowls of a remarkably spicy take on a basic noodle soup with fermented vegetables, Vegeta worked in silence beside Malar, assisting her in the complicated process of welding the hole left by the broken window back together using panels from the ship the pirates had arrived in. It was small and barren inside (Vegeta had practically torn the interior apart looking for anything worthwhile and had found nothing) but the ship's body was remarkably strong and appeared to be the most suitable of all the ships remaining at the station. They had decided to scrap the idea of installing a new window, mutually citing concerns of issues arising during take-off or landing.

Malar was precise and ordered Vegeta to always follow her directions. The process of welding metal from another ship onto the capsule ship was not easy. It took six hours to weld the metal together from the outside and another three to refine the seal, constantly checking for any sign of weakness in the seams.

The mechanic finally extinguished her flame, powered down her huge collection of tools, and pushed her mask up. "Wasn't that fun? So... when do you want to begin to process of ensuring the seams are consistent from the inside?"

"Uugh!" Vegeta pulled his heavy welder's mask up, "how long is that going to take?"

"Not too long," Malar smirked, "you'll be doing the work. I'm gonna sit in a chair and tell you what to do."

Unable to object, Vegeta rolled his eyes and hissed at her instead.

* * *

Laying back in the restaurant booth with a cup of tea in his hands, Vegeta struggled to keep his eyes open and thought about all the surprisingly gruelling work he'd just completed. The Saiyan hadn't any idea Malar's work was so complex and physically demanding, and he had a new-found respect for mechanics.

Malar had gone off to take a shower and nap for a few hours. "We'll have something to eat when I get up," she had said. He had unconsciously started standing guard over the desolate station after she'd retired to her quarters. It had been close to six hours, and Vegeta was beginning to wonder if something was wrong. I'll give it another hour, he decided, if she doesn't get up by that time I'll go check on her...

Half an hour later, Vegeta was awakened by the sound of Malar pulling a large pot off her gleaming cooking range. "You hungry, Vegeta? I heated up some stewed meat!"

"Mm," Vegeta got up onto his feet and stretched, flexing his fingers and yawning, "that sounds alright... when'd you get here?"

"Eh, twenty minutes ago?"

"Huh," Vegeta rubbed his eyes, "I must be tired if I slept through somebody cooking..."

They ate in relative quiet, both aware that they were going to have to part ways again.

"So... you said you're headed somewhere... where might that be?" Vegeta set his spoon down and noted the mechanic's narrow eyes widened a bit.

"Does it matter?" Malar barely touched her food, instead taking shallow sips of tea. "Where are you going?"

"I dunno," the Saiyan shrugged and took a long sip of hot herbal tea, "there's planets yet to be explored, and bases for me to drop in on."

The mechanic's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Uh-huh. You know there's a pretty huge bounty on your head, right?"

Vegeta reacted to this news by cackling with delight and slapping the table with the palm of his hand. "That's amazing! How much? Oh, I hope it's a big one... what are the charges?"

Malar was not impressed. "You're wanted for desertion from PTO forces, many counts of murder, vandalism, assault... the charges against you are endless, Vegeta. This isn't a joke. Any bounty hunter powerful enough to kill you and bring your head to the remaining authorities- and both are out there, my friend- is set to have ten billion credits transferred to their account for the trouble. Be very careful."

The Saiyan smirked and had another sip of tea. "I'm not really worried about that. But it's good to know I was appraised at such a high value..."

Malar pushed her half-full bowl of stew away, "I'm just warning you. Be careful."

They were quiet for many minutes before Malar spoke again: "I'm going to see a doctor about my heart. A few years ago I caught a terrible illness that left me with a weakened heart. Apparently... and I don't really get medical stuff, but I understand that you can catch the virus and have no idea about it for a long time, but when you finally get sick, you get really sick. For the two and a half years I've been relying on a prescription drug to keep me feeling well and keep my heart functioning normally, but it's clear the damage has been done. I need to get a valve replaced and that means I'll need to get surgery, but I have no real idea how I'm gonna pay for it. My best course of action is to get a job on a planet with decent medical infrastructure and save up again..."

"Oh," Vegeta began to wonder if he'd ever been exposed to this mystery virus, "how much does the surgery cost?"

Another mournful sigh and lingering sadness in her grey eyes. "Probably one hundred... maybe 'hundred twenty five thousand credits by the time all is said and done... the surgery, the recovery, all the drugs and medications, the nurses and doctors... it ain't gonna' be cheap, but until I can afford the surgery, I can just keep on with my medicine. If I get a job somewhere else, maybe on a planet, the prescription won't eat up as much of my income..."

Huge tears began rolling down Malar's plump cheeks and she buried her face in her hands. Vegeta muttered something about needing to use the washroom and moved fast down the hall, shutting himself in the room he'd been sleeping in.

Rifling through the small gym bag he'd left in the bedroom, Vegeta found both copies of his ghost card and stared at them for many minutes, stomach twisting in knots and hard lump in his throat seemingly growing by the second. He had over two hundred thousand credits remaining; more than enough to live on for many years, and enough for him to live well at that. He had nobody to answer to and all the resources he could possibly need.

A life of endless travel and new challenges, he thought, how wonderful it would be to leave all my troubles behind...

He thought about the bump in Bulma's belly and how angry he'd been when he had left Earth. He had been filled with rage at the time that he almost wanted to pray to to gods to keep him away from that planet and _those people_ for the rest of his days.

Then he thought about Malar's health and knew she was much sicker than she left on. He wondered how much longer she really had left to live should her heart problem continue to go untreated.

Finally, Vegeta thought about the strange young man who wielded a sword and warned him of a looming crisis on Earth, and suddenly remembered why he had left in the first place: to realize the legendary Super Saiyan form so he could do battle with the deadly androids set to kill him. If Vegeta won the battle, it would mean the woman and the little baby he'd helped bring into the world would survive and thrive.

He looked at the ghost cards in his hand once more and heaved a sigh. When this is over, I will be utterly destitute and without a home or an ally anywhere in PTO territory, he thought, and the only place left for me to go is Earth...

Vegeta walked back to the restaurant, gym bag slung over his left shoulder, sat down in the booth he'd been sharing with Malar, and slid the two ghost cards across the table.

His fate was sealed.

"There is no name connected to these cards, so you need not worry about arousing suspicions should you choose to use these. These will give you just over two hundred thousand credits to work with, so be sure to spend it wisely. It's all I can give you. I do hope that it will cover the cost of repairs, food, and lodging."

Malar clapped a huge hand over her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut and shed several more tears in the process, and weakly nodded. "Thank you," she croaked, "but why? Why are you being so nice to me?"

Vegeta shrugged. "I should ask you the same question, but I do need to be on my way now."

The mechanic dipped her head in acknowledgement, wiped her eyes, and stood up to her full height. "At least let me see you take off... c'mon, I'll direct you out to the docking bay."

 


	66. Denial

* * *

Small travel pack slung over her shoulder, Malar unlocked her personal transit spacecraft and threw the pack onto the back row of wide seats. The vehicle was just large enough for Malar and one other passenger, with a small washroom in the very back and a sizable store of ready-to-eat food and a microwave on-board. The pilot's seat was designed to recline into a long if not slightly narrow bed, and there was a large entertainment console built into the small ship's control panel.

Vegeta had left the day prior, leaving her with a firm nod and all of his money, which had reduced Malar to tears once he had taken off and was out of sight mere seconds later. Her chest ached and she wasn't sure if it was a result of her weak heart working hard or if her sadness had taken on new physical aspect.

Now, with her station essentially shut down and all of her personal affects shoved into a travel pack and small soft-sided suitcase, Malar had no reason to remain at White Star. She had left a small amount of preserved food and bedding for any traveller seeking refuge, but almost all of the lighting and electrical systems had been turned off. The small station was now a shadow of the once-vibrant and busy hub it had been just a few years prior.

Once she had taken off and her course had been programmed into the vehicle so she could go on autopilot, Malar slumped back in her seat and heaved another heavy sigh. I've been sighing and crying a lot lately, she thought, what is wrong with me? I used to be the life of the party!

Her panel lit up and an incoming call signal chirped through her speakers. Caller unknown, her screen displayed, and Malar was very reluctant to accept the call. After twenty seconds of deliberation, she accepted the call.

"Malar here," she said in her raspy voice before her breath caught in her throat, horrified to recognize the man she was looking at, "Sikari, what can I do for you?"

Sikari was a well-known bounty hunter who operated within PTO boundaries. An independent man, he lived by his own rules and was notorious for stalking his targets for years at a stretch, waiting for the right moment to catch a target off guard. The man was rumoured to have stalked one target for close to a decade before finally capturing him. Sikari was about six feet tall, with skin the colour of onyx and round eyes resembling jade buttons, thick tendrils of oily hair the colour of rust cascading down his broad shoulders, and a mouth like a wide red slash that hinted at rows of razor-sharp teeth and toxic saliva when he smiled into the camera. He wore billowing robes the colour of sand with a purple sash, and a jewel-studded black fez sat atop his head.

"I'm wondering if you might have some helpful information for me, Malar. Have you heard or seen anything from Vegeta? I was just at a station where a very lovely young attendant told me she had sold the Saiyan a medical kit and blanket."

"Oh yeah? I haven't seen him in years," Malar kept a straight face and internally wished for the conversation to end, "you lookin' for him?"

"Yes..." Sikari did not look amused and ran his large tongue over his teeth, "the young attendant told me she recommended your station. Did he arrive at your station?"

"Nah," the mechanic shook her head, "I've been shuttin' the place down over the last few days. Nobody's at White Star now. Things been slowing down for many months aboard that station... well, come to think of it... this transmission came through, but there was never any strong connection established and so the call was dropped. Didn't think anything of it. Maybe it was him? Maybe he's stranded or somethin'? No ship came 'round my place for a while now... it's been very quiet."

"Mm," the bounty hunter narrowed his eyes and considered this tidbit of information, "I thank you for that information. May I ask why you have left your station, dear Malar?"

The mechanic stifled a shiver. "Taking a well-deserved break. Gonna see the doctor, make sure my health's still good as ever! Anything else you need, Sikari?"

"No, no, my dear. May you experience good health for centuries to come. I must be on my way, there is a large bounty I am determined to collect. Until next time..."

Sikari disconnected first, and Malar felt his chilling smile lingering well after his image had faded away from the screen. The mechanic laced her fingers together and silently prayed for Vegeta to safety return to the planet that had given him refuge and to never venture back into space.

* * *

It took close to seven weeks to make it back into Earth's solar system. The ship held up remarkably well, although Vegeta was reluctant to turn the gravity simulator up very high lest he experience yet another problem. He kept busy by engaging in hours of gentle exercise, watching films, and napping. He made a point of eating only what he needed and not a morsel more, concerned he would run out of rations before returning to Earth. With no money left, Vegeta was in a precarious situation.

The computer notified Vegeta when he had all of twenty four hours to go before he arrived back to Earth, rousing him out of sleep and making his stomach twist as he was filled with anxiety. After pacing the kitchenette floor for close to half an hour, Vegeta returned to bed.

He really didn't want to think about what was about to happen to him. He was going to have to face that woman, and her family and friends... and that baby.

The Saiyan wanted to be sick, but his aching stomach was empty.

In stark contrast to the first time Vegeta returned to Earth, the Capsule ship came in for a slow and gentle landing in the Capsule compound's back yard just after eleven thirty in the morning. Vegeta shut down the entire ship in the interest of allowing its fuel cells to recharge. He'd stacked his bags in one of the narrow closets within his living area and retrieved them, head flooding with paranoid thoughts about actually returning to Earth. The stakes were higher and riskier now: he had a child, even if he didn't want to admit it, he was mere weeks away from what was sure to be the battle of his lifetime, and he no longer had any money or anywhere else to go. In some ways, he was completely at the mercy of the humans who had initially taken him in one more time, and being at the mercy of anybody else was the last thing the Saiyan wanted.

Gym bag slung over his shoulder and canvas pack carried against his waist, Vegeta walked up to the sliding glass door, rapped on it with his knuckles, and waited for an answer.

Twenty seconds passed before the Briefs matriarch came to the door, gasped, and opened the door. She sensed his energy was different. He appeared calmer on the surface, but the turmoil underneath had only intensified.

"Hello," Vegeta looked her up and down and found she hadn't changed at all, "I've returned."

"Oh! Oh! Vegeta! Come in! Come in," she stepped aside to let him pass through, "Bulma's gone out with the baby. She'll be back in a few hours."

"Fine," Vegeta eyed the living room and immediately noticed rainbow-coloured toys on a low coffee table, its corners now padded, "I'm hungry. I trust my room was left alone."

Mrs. Briefs nodded. She could scarcely catch her breath, so surprised by her strange guest's sudden return. "I'm preparing lunch right now. How about you come down in twenty minutes? Give you a chance to unpack..."

The Saiyan took a deep sniff of the air, catching the scent of the oven warming up and the smell of what had to be _the baby._ Even though the woman and the infant were out, Vegeta knew there was another resident of the compound. "Very well," he said, "in twenty minutes."

He went upstairs to his bedroom and found it largely untouched, save for clean bedding and a small stack of clean laundry that had been left atop his dresser. Somebody had cleaned his bathroom at some point, but he didn't mind that. Heaving a sigh, Vegeta unpacked his bags and threw all of his clothing into a laundry basket. He put away his first aid and medicine kits before venturing out into the hallway to check Bulma's room.

Never did he expect her room to look so organized; her closets were in order and her shoes stored away in their boxes or on a rack, the bed made and the bedside table's surface actually visible. The ashtrays were no longer overflowing, and her desk was no longer a scene of chaos.

Next, he went to the room he presumed to be for the baby and his breathing hitched when he took in the sight of a bright, clean room, filled with colourful and soft toys, books, clothing and accessories. Vegeta's eye was drawn to a collection of photographs set high up on a tall and narrow set of drawers, and he approached to inspect the photographs.

There was a shot of Bulma, loosely covered with a robe and laying in what was obviously a hospital bed, clearly exhausted but beaming down at a bundle of white cloth and a tiny head covered with black hair. Another shot of the child's maternal grandparents holding the tiny bundle and grinning for the camera.

Finally, Vegeta spotted picture frame turned face-down, and he turned it up to realize it was a picture Mrs. Briefs (of all the people) had taken of him after several days of very gentle coaxing that was always accompanied by fresh fruit and tea. Although quite embarrassed at the realization the older woman had shared the photograph when he'd warned her not to, any anger he had faded the longer he studied the portrait: it had been shot in black and white sometime in the autumn, probably close to his birthday. He wore the black cable-knit sweater Bulma had given him as a Christmas present and dark denim jeans, but he was barefoot. Vegeta had curled up on the rocking chair on the patio and had drawn his left knee close to his chest, right leg bent and tucked in tight to his body. His gaze was fixed on the camera, his face neutral but his eyes warning the world to keep its distance.

It's actually a very good picture, he thought, I've never had my photograph taken for anything other than identification purposes.

He heard the Briefs matriarch calling and went downstairs for something to eat.

The Saiyan was quite pleased when he discovered the woman had prepared baked fish, salad, and fresh, hot bread. It was light food, but he was still content to eat it anyway.

It was several minutes before the spoke. Mrs. Briefs gave her guest several cheerful smiles but was reluctant to initiate conversation.

"So the baby's here, then," Vegeta finished his fish and moved on to the salad, secretly thrilled at the presence of fresh tomatoes in his bowl, "what's it do all day?"

Mrs. Briefs cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. " _His_ name is Trunks, and he's a very sweet little baby boy. Trunks is just an infant, Vegeta... babies need lots of love and attention and care, especially during the first few years."

"Alright," Vegeta took a bite of tomato and savoured it, "whatever. It's not my territory or anything."

Frustration flashed across the older woman's face momentarily before she regained her composure. She knew the alien tended to poke away at somebody until they reacted. "I remember our conversation when Bulma announced she was pregnant, and respect your wishes."

Vegeta seethed in silence and popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "You look about the same since I last saw you," he looked the woman up and down again, noting her outfit signified they were heading into the warmest part of the year.

The woman smiled and added a little more salad on her guest's plate, "you weren't gone for too long... but Bulma has missed you _terribly_."

"Whatever," he shrugged and rose from his seat, and went outside to sunbathe. For the first time ever, Vegeta had left food behind on his plate.

Sighing with frustration, Mrs. Briefs rose from her seat and began clearing the table.

At three in the afternoon, skin slightly pink from the early afternoon sun, Vegeta returned inside and headed into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Bulma's shoes beside the dining table chair she had always occupied and her briefcase left at her place beside a half-drunk cup of coffee, print of red lipstick marking it as her own.

Emerging from the washroom with the baby cradled in her arms, his diaper fresh and dirty outfit exchanged for a new one, Bulma did not look up from her content son until she was but five feet from the Saiyan, gasping with surprise when she realized he had returned.

He looked exactly the same; perhaps a bit leaner, his eyes weary and dark with turmoil. Vegeta looked Bulma up and down, realizing she looked exactly the same, save for her slightly fuller breasts, and suspiciously eyed the infant in her arms.

It was the baby he hadn't wanted to meet, with fat cheeks, fine violet hair, chubby little fingers and a mouth like a tiny pink bow. Vegeta couldn't help but stare at _it_ , as much as he didn't want to, and searched for any features that may have resembled his own.

When Vegeta saw a pair of bright blue eyes gaze into his own and recognized both the shape of the eyes and the strong eyebrows already growing thick reflected on the baby boy's face, he felt a sick hot surge of some awful emotion he didn't even wish to begin identifying wash over him, and as the baby started to gurgle and cry, Vegeta snarled at Trunks.

He caught the baby's scent and smelled elements of himself in its unique body chemistry. It really was his son.

"No," he backed away and shook his head, "no!"

The Saiyan disappeared in a flash, leaving a devastated Bulma alone in the kitchen with a wailing Trunks, who did not know what to make of the vanishing stranger with the frightening eyes.


	67. The Art of Compromise

For the first two days, Vegeta remained locked in his bedroom, refusing to speak to anybody and only accepting meals when they were left by his door. If he wanted seconds, the Saiyan merely yelled for him.

"Why are you indulging that asshole, Mom?" Bulma cradled Trunks as he fed from her breast with her left arm, right hand occupied with a fork constantly loaded with mouthfuls of baked farfalle in cream sauce with ham and peas.

Even with help from her parents, Bulma found caring for the baby incredibly stressful. She felt as though she had no real idea what she was doing, and now that Vegeta was back, she had yet another constant stress to contend with. The woman could not understand why her mother insisted on sending meals up to Vegeta's room. She would go up the stairs carrying trays loaded with generous servings of whatever she prepared, pitchers of water and juice, desserts, snacks, and slender vases of fresh-cut flowers. The matriarch picked up the Saiyan's laundry and had even delivered a new plush new blue blanket on the second day.

"Bulma..." Mrs. Briefs' voice was just slightly on edge, "just let him adjust. We shared a whole three words earlier, which is obviously some good progress. Please, lay off the name calling."

"He's a piece of shit," Bulma spoke with her mouth full, eliciting an annoyed sigh from her mother, "he really is. And you're enabling him."

The woman didn't respond. She finished scooping pasta into a deep bowl and set it on the tray beside another large bowl filled with green salad, half a baguette, napkins and cutlery. As she ascended the stairs, Bulma seethed in silence and pushed her dish away. Suddenly she wasn't quite so hungry.

Very early on the third morning after Vegeta's return, the Saiyan finally went downstairs to make his own breakfast as the sun rose over the horizon. He recognized the percolator on-sight and the first thing he did was make a pot of coffee.

It was five minutes past six when Bulma came down the stairs, high heeled shoes held in one hand and large briefcase in the other. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen when she spotted the Saiyan waiting for the coffee, hip pressed into the side of the counter and arms crossed over his chest.

"Good morning," Bulma set her shoes next to her chair at the table and briefcase on the chair to her right.

"Mm," Vegeta glanced over at the woman for a few seconds, taken by the sight of her in what must have been her office wear, "good morning."

Bulma took a plate of muffins from the refrigerator, set them to warm up in the microwave for a minute, and stared at Vegeta the entire time, her expertly made-up face fixed in an expression of severe disapproval.

Barely looking at her, Vegeta took two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee, brought them to the table, returned to the refrigerator for cream and fetched two spoons, and then finally sat down. "You take cream, right?"

The microwave beeped and Bulma shot the Saiyan a grim smirk. "Do you want a ham and cheese muffin? I've got a few minutes before I need to head out."

* * *

Malar came to in her hospital bed, tubes snaking around her arms and a terrible ache radiating down the centre of her chest, from her collarbone to her stomach. The surgery had been performed earlier in the day, and her body continued to process the anaesthetic. The lights overhead were so bright that she could see the capillaries in her eyelids when she blinked. She sighed and her eyes fluttered shut again.

On a monitor she could hear a steady beeping and managed to crack a small smile before falling asleep.

* * *

As Sikari reached out to bring the coiled hose and metal tip of water pipe to his mouth once more, he sunk deeper into his seat and waited for his contact to arrive. The climate on planet 5-GX was torrid and unforgiving; the planet's massive sun hung halfway in the hazy orange sky and the only form of relief in the city called Kapitol came in the form of cafes and taverns that served potent liquors and tinctures over tall glasses of crushed ice.

The bounty hunter sat with his drink and his water pipe of fragrant herbs, very quiet and content to watch life pass by. As the ice melted into the liquor, the bounty hunter sipped and noted, with some amusement, how his mouth and throat grew numb as he drank.

Finally, strolling into the open-air space, hips swinging and boots thudding and leather creaking, Sikari's contact arrived and stood before him, weight shifting onto one hip and lips tightening into a pout. "Yo," the young woman looked Sikari up and down and immediately found him repulsive to look at, "I want this to be worth my while."

"Please sit, my dear," Sikari gave his contact a gracious smile and gestured to the empty chair across from his own, "it is so good to see you, Kohara."

Kohara was a deceptively young-looking bounty hunter who had many years of experience. She had a round face, as pale as milk, huge copper eyes framed by long, dark lashes, and black hair twisted into thick plaits and piled atop her head, held in place with pines that were sure to be deadly weapons. Although Sikari knew better than to write her off on the basis of her appearance and demeanour, plenty of bounty hunters found the targets they had been following for weeks or even months at a time were suddenly (and often violently) captured by Kohara. Unless a bounty specified the fugitive be captured and kept alive until remanded into custody, Kohara always killed her targets.

"Sure," she drawled and pulled a hard-shell case out of her small leather backpack, "what's good and cheap here? I'm supposed to be collecting a bounty tomorrow and that's the only reason I'm in this shithole of a city."

Kohara pulled a hand-rolled cigarette and reusable lighter from her case, lit it, and sighed with relief. She really could not stand this planet's oppressive heat.

"I would be happy to buy you a drink, my dear," Sikari smiled and showed some of his jagged teeth, "whatever you desire, of course. Money is never an object."

"Nuh-uh," Kohara shook her head, "won't get myself in no position where I suddenly owe a man something in return. I got myself covered just fine, Sikari," she waved to the barkeep and motioned for them to bring a glass of whatever it was Sikari was drinking.

Sikari smirked and puffed on his pipe. "Do not lump me in with the awful men you're thinking about, my dear, I beg of you! And may I express my surprise at your desire to meet and speak with me? Admittedly, I figured you were angry that I took down that entire drug smuggling ring before you had a chance to lock in on their ship. They brought a considerable reward, and part of me feels badly that collected all that money when you so obviously needed it..."

Kohara returned the smirk. She received her beverage, swirling the liquid around to begin melting the ice, and took a very small sip. Immediately her lips and mouth began to tingle. "That's all in the past, Sikari, and there's no hard feelings on my end. After all, we do work in a very unpredictable industry with lots of competition. But since I heard about the money on Vegeta's head... _well_! That's one hell of a bounty, and I want in. Here's my proposition: if I give you a few tips I overheard and they lead to Vegeta's capture, I want a cut of that money."

The elder bounty hunter's intense green eyes narrowed and he considered the offer. "Please, do continue..."

"I want fifty million. That's some pocket change outta that big ol' reward, y'know?"

Sikari took a long drag, tilted his head up, and exhaled slowly, blue smoke rising up towards the painted ceiling. "That's fair, Kohara. I agree to give you a cut of fifty million, should your information lead me to capturing Vegeta. But I almost fear that you are underselling yourself..."

"Cut the shit, Sikari. You know I don't fall for your mysterious exotic gentleman act, alright?"

The robe-clad man only smiled at Kohara. "Then do let me in on your bit of gossip, girl, before I am no longer a gentle man."

The woman laughed and took another drag. "Alright, then. This info might be a bit outdated now... but when ya factor in travel time and nearby planets and stations..."

* * *

It was half past seven when Bulma dragged herself in from work, feet aching so badly that she stopped twice on her way inside and leaned against a wall just for a few seconds of relief. High heel shoes in her hand and briefcase in her left, she finally made it into the front room and dropped everything before practically falling into the couch.

"Whew! What a day!"

"Well hi there, Bulma," Mrs. Briefs came to the front room with a mug tea and a biscuit, "long day at the office?"

The woman sighed and sat up straight in order to take a sip of tea and finally eat something. She'd skipped lunch in order to respond to some e-mails and now felt lightheaded. "Please tell me there's something good for dinner, Mom! Today was absolutely nuts! Oh, the _minute_ this product launch is done, I'm gonna take some time off! Just me and my baby! Speaking of which, how is my little guy?"

"Down to sleep for the night... he's exploring more and crawling a bit further every day, Bulma! Oh, and he loves to watch his grandma cook! We already ate, but there's plenty of leftovers for you..."

"Who is "we", Mom?"

"Your father and I, of course! Vegeta ate upstairs in his bedroom. He even brought down the dishes..."

"Don't make me feel any more guilty than I already do, Mom... geez..." Bulma had a single bite of her biscuit before she went upstairs to get changed. Listening to her mother talk about all the time she was spending with Trunks got to her more than she liked, and she loathed the feeling of guilt she experienced after each day of returning from a twelve hour day at work- something she had always done before the baby- and then felt angry with herself for feeling guilty.

I'm a businesswoman, she told herself as she took off her makeup with a wipe, it's no different than anybody else returning to work after having a kid. I took a few months off! Trunks has all the frozen breast milk and formula he could ever need, and his grandparents are always with him! It's not like I've just abandoned my kid! I'm still his mother and it's not like I resent him!

She suddenly stopped and stared at her bare-faced reflection in the mirror. Holding back tears, she rinsed her face and then moved on to applying her night cream.

As she went downstairs to finally have a proper meal, she heard the sound of the television from Vegeta's room and stopped outside his door for a moment, holding her breath as she stood perfectly still.

When she finally made it downstairs, Vegeta turned off his television and shifted on his bed. Hair still drying from his after-training shower, he had been relaxing when he had sensed the woman's energy. It made him feel weird, being around her again, and now that there was a baby in the house, yet another energy to contend with and get used to, it almost felt like overload after months of isolation.

However, what really shook Vegeta at his core was the unshakable feeling that he'd encountered that little baby's energy before.

But where? That baby named Trunks was just a little thing, with fat little limbs and cheeks and a pink mouth that was constantly spread in a smile whenever he was with his grandparents. While eating lunch, when the older woman had her back turned away from the table, Vegeta had leaned over towards the infant's high-chair and taken a curious sniff around his hairline.

Although that sparse, ultrafine violet hair had made Vegeta suspicious of the infant's true paternity at first sight, that smell was unmistakable.

What he had not expected, of course, was that the baby had sniffed him back and had reacted to subconsciously recognizing the smell of his own father by squealing and clapping. Nobody had _ever_ reacted to Vegeta with something resembling joy before, not even the woman during the most passionate moments of their relationship. The mother of my son, he thought, again feeling his stomach churn with anxiety at the idea of parenthood, family, and connectedness.

It was only eight thirty at night, and Vegeta's stomach rumbled and compelled him to go downstairs to find something to eat, as much as he didn't really want to speak to Bulma again. Their breakfast-time conversation had been minimal at best, very tense as he asked her where she was going, and she demanded to know how he was planning to spend his day.

However, Vegeta had offered her coffee that morning, literally one of their first interactions since he had left, and in turn she had given him two ham and cheese muffins, and they had sat together and finished their light meal together without either one raising their voices or storming off in frustration.

Maybe I can do this again, he thought, I do need to talk to her about that gravity room she promised me before she got pregnant...

 


	68. Out Of Time

When Vegeta found Bulma in the kitchen shaking a small bottle of what looked like milk, he watched her for a few moments before finally deciding to move past her in order to find something to eat.

"Don't be surprised if Trunks starts crying around nine thirty. Lately he's been wanting to eat around that time, so I'm trying to be prepared..."

"Alright," Vegeta wasn't really sure how to respond to that bit of information, "that's his food, I take it? That milk?"

"Infant formula. He eats and eats and eats, Vegeta. Just like you. It's a bit ridiculous, really- if I take him out he wants to eat every forty minutes. He's pretty adventurous with more grown-up food, too! Little guy loves mashed sweet potatoes! The minute he could hold his head up on his own, Trunks has shown interest in everything we're eating!"

"Uh-huh..." the Saiyan found a tin of tuna fish and decided that would be just fine, "how old is i- he?"

"Almost nine months now."

"How long will he be helpless?"

Bulma stopped shaking the plastic bottle and set it down on the counter with just enough force to make a noise. "Vegeta! Trunks is just an infant. I don't know how quickly Saiyan babies develop, but human children need a lot of care and nurturing and guidance, and that's well beyond the first year of life! Ugh, you're so inconsiderate!"

The Saiyan seethed and opted to pull the lid off his snack before responding. He'd come across the good type of tuna fish, packed in olive oil and wonderfully salty, and smiled a bit. "I ask because I need to know about the progress on that gravity room. The simulator on my ship works, but I haven't pushed it to its highest limits since I got it repaired."

The engineer had been looking through the refrigerator, searching for something to snack on, when Vegeta's comment made her stop and look at him with her eyes wide. "Repaired?! What the hell happened?"

As Vegeta recounted the story of waking up on a strange planet, his ship's electrical systems disabled and shutting down for his own safety, Bulma made two cups of tea and listened to him, wide eyed and anxious about where his story might be going.

"...I managed to get off the ground again, and eventually found a station where, believe it or not, I ran into a mechanic I knew as a teenager. She's good at her job, so naturally I trusted her to fix the issues, but I was unwilling to push my luck during my return."

"Oh my god, an alien worked on my ship? Wow!" Bulma's expression grew very bright and she stood up from her chair, "this is amazing! Wait here, I'm gonna get dressed and get my tools, be ready to show me what she worked on! Oooh, I hope she put in a few new parts for me to check out!"

Bulma bounded up the stairs two at a time and nearly slid across the hardwood floor as she ran down the hallway in her stocking feet. Two minutes later, she came running down the stairs, dressed in a tank top and coveralls, wearing her work boots and her hair held back underneath a bandanna. "C'mon," she slid the patio door open and bounded towards the ship, still sitting in the backyard, "what are you waiting for?!"

Vegeta decided to get another tin of tuna before he headed outside, stopping for a few seconds to feel the lush green grass underneath his bare feet. In a few weeks it will be time to do battle with those androids, he thought, and should I die, it is certain that I will return to the cold and darkness...

He shivered as he ascended the staircase, and stopped in the doorway when he discovered Bulma had pulled the panels off most of the electrical systems and going from place to place, trying to take in everything at once. Vegeta had never seen the woman appear so happy and excited, and although he couldn't explain why, her reaction pleased him.

"Wow! Oh, wow, Vegeta! She re-wired things... look at this wiring! What sort of material is this?! It looks like she fixed the wall... she replaced the siding! Oh my God..." she booted up the computer and marvelled at how quickly it worked, "this is incredible!"

"Malar is a very talented mechanic. She even serviced Frieza's ships, back in the day," Vegeta ate a forkful of tuna and watched as Bulma continued examining all the work Malar had done.

"Damn... this craftsmanship looks like it is beyond compare. Is, so, uh... is she, you know... evil?" Bulma laughed nervously but was reluctant to make extended eye contact with the Saiyan.

Vegeta scoffed at the woman's question and ate a bit more. "More like the most well-intentioned soul I've ever crossed. I have no fucking idea how she's survived _and_ made a profit in the Planet Trade Organization without hurting or killing anybody... as far as I know, anyway."

Bulma laughed nervously and navigated the computer's programs. All systems appeared normal in the diagnostics panel, and all the lighting and communications systems responded in record time when the engineer accessed them.

"Vegeta, I want you to train in here to your heart's content. Just, ah, don't blow it up, okay? You have my full permission to put the gravity simulator as high as you can take it. The gravity room is built, but I'm still having issues with running the simulator designed for the room. You see, in theory it works, but there's something about its construction I haven't quite figured out yet... but I've got a hunch about those components your friend added. All I ask is that you let me have, oh, an hour each day to check out the wear and tear on the simulator and ship's hull? Preferably during the late afternoon or early evening..."

"Fin- very well. And for the record, I don't intend on getting caught in another explosion."

Bulma cracked up laughing, but seconds later her expression turned very sad. "We've only got a few weeks left..."

"I know. My training out in deep space was beneficial, and I intend to turn those androids into scrap metal."

"But that strange young man, Vegeta... he said you will..." Bulma stared into the Saiyan's dark eyes, "he said that so many will..." tears welled up in her bright blue eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

The Saiyan brushed off Bulma's comment and tears with a bark of a laugh, and tilted his chin up. "That purple-haired brat from the so-called future? _Please._ He knows nothing of my true power. Before Kakarot and the others can even reach ground zero, I will have taken on and defeated the androids. I guarantee it, Bulma. Nothing will stand in my way now! Now quit your crying!"

The engineer stared at Vegeta in disbelief for several seconds before her eyes began to dart back and forth, suddenly recalling something. "Purple hair... purple hair... _aaah!_ Trunks! Ohmygod, I better go and check on him! He's probably waking up right now!"

Bulma left Vegeta alone in the ship, running down the stairs and into the house. Taken off-guard by the woman's sudden shift in mindset, Vegeta paced around the ship, finishing his second tin of tuna fish and looking over Malar's work one more time. He suddenly thought about the boy from the future and his purple hair.

"Purple hair... purple hair... _ugh!_ What a wretched hair colour, purple! And that stupid outfit! Fuck, that kid was what, sixteen years old? That _future boy_ is probably just some bored intern at Bulma's family's company, playing a ludicrous prank. What a joke!"

* * *

Although she felt much better, Malar still hadn't recovered fully and had to remind herself that she had the right to sleep more than usual and to move at a slower pace. Her body continued to heal and a constant full-body pain kept her from doing much of anything. After being released from the clinic where she had the surgery on her heart, the first thing the mechanic did was treat herself to a cup of tea at a tiny tea room.

"I'm not sure how much money I've got on this," the mechanic was quick to tell the young server before saying yes to any sweets or fruit, "do you have any way of checking the balance?"

"No problem," the server, a very young woman with bright pink hair and shimmering green skin passed over the small card reader used to process payments, "just press the orange button."

"Thanks..." Malar inserted the ghost card, pushed the button, and feared her recovering heart would stop when the screen displayed the balance available; Vegeta had told her there had been a couple hundred thousand credits available, but the card reader said there was close to two million credits available. Her financial safety net now wide and strong, Malar had the opportunity to recover at her own pace and take her time finding new work.

Convinced her body had gone numb, Malar slowly removed the card with a trembling hand and passed the reader back over the counter. "Um... yeah... those sweets... yeah, please... that would be... great..."

"Are you alright, miss?" The server watched the tall, stunned woman with worry.

Lips turning up into the brightest and most genuine smile she had given in years, Malar nodded. "Never been better."

* * *

For the entire month of April, Vegeta trained every day, ate as much as he wanted, took naps after lunch, swam laps every morning, occasionally watched a bit of television, and observed his infant son from a distance. He was unwilling to hold the baby, twice snapping that Saiyan men did not raise children, when in reality he wasn't entirely sure he could suppress the barely-conscious desire to wrap his hands around its fat little neck.

He asked Bulma on three occasions if she wanted to have sex, but the answer was always no. On April the eighteenth, Mrs. Briefs had taken Trunks to an appointment that turned out to be a consultation prior to tail removal surgery. Vegeta screamed that removing the boy's tail was to deny his heritage and paternity, and before the stunned older woman could even open her mouth to retort, the Saiyan's voice dropped into its lowest register, and through grit teeth he snarled: "you might deny what that boy is, but one day you'll see- you'll all see what he really is!"

As the infant screamed in distress, shaken out of his sleep by the terrifying roar that came out of the man whose energy was always either neutral or terrifying, Vegeta stormed out of the house and spent the rest of the day up on the rooftop, brooding and wallowing in his anger.

On April thirtieth, at eleven in the evening, Bulma knocked on Vegeta's bedroom door and let herself in when he asked who it was. Although he wanted to yell at her for barging into his room, the Saiyan was pleasantly taken aback by the sight of the woman dressed in a very short nightgown.

"This is unexpected," his lopsided smirk appeared and he took in the sight of the woman's figure, "but not unwanted..."

The engineer sat beside him on the bed and reached out to rub his shoulders. "I want you."

"Mmm," Vegeta was quick to pull off his t-shirt and let her touch his skin, "it's a matter of days now, isn't it?"

"Yes..." Bulma kissed the back of Vegeta's neck and drew herself in closer, "I just need some company now..."

* * *

On the first of May, Vegeta entered a period of extended physical recovery and rest. He ate more than ever, gaining another four pounds in the space of one week, slept at least ten hours each night, and did little more than swim laps in the late afternoon. He was very quiet, suddenly more introspective than ever and slow to respond when others tried to engage him in conversation. Although he continued to observe baby Trunks from a distance, the aggressive vibration he emitted into the environment gave way to one that was enquiring and borderline passive.

On the ninth of May, the Saiyan was pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Briefs presented him with a new suit of lightweight armour, gloves, boots, and a few different options for clothing. He opted to go for full coverage and was impressed by how well-designed the clothing was. It fit him perfectly, far better than anything the PTO have ever offered him, and gave his body a remarkably sleek appearance. Voice subdued, Vegeta thanked the woman, and continued languidly inspecting his appearance in a full-length mirror.

"You're certainly welcome, Vegeta. Sweetheart... could I give you a hug?"

"No," Vegeta's voice was stronger, sharper, and his gaze became more focused on the mirror.

"Okay," Mrs. Briefs' voice remained soft and comforting, "we love you. Goodnight," she immediately left, knowing she'd hit him with her words when he froze for a split second.

"Who the fuck is "we"," he asked to an empty room.

* * *

The night of May eleventh, just ten minutes after the Saiyan had turned in for the night, Bulma came to his dark room and immediately crawled into his bed, making her way underneath him with remarkable speed and grace.

"Please," she kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his hair he fully realized what she was doing, "please make love to me, Vegeta. One more time..."

He returned her kiss and started to push the blankets back.

* * *

The morning of May twelfth did not go as Vegeta had predicted. After spending two hours together, much of it in near-silence save for a few whispered words and quiet moans, Bulma left Vegeta's bedroom. Unable to fall asleep, Vegeta took a warm shower and watched television, the volume barely above mute, flipping between a 24 hour news channel, an infomercial, an science-fiction film, and the weather channel for close to three hours. Then, desperate to fall asleep and convinced he could feel his limbs growing heavy, Vegeta lay in bed with his eyes shut and focused on his breathing.

_This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it..._

Finally, unsure of what time it was, Vegeta fell asleep. Just before he drifted off, Vegeta told himself that he would get up by seven thirty.

When the hum of the little vacuum that patrolled the upstairs hallway roused Vegeta from his heavy slumber, the Saiyan immediately knew it was well past seven thirty. He threw the blankets back and practically hurled himself out of bed, scrambling to get into his battle armour and pull himself together at once. He stomped into his bathroom and took enough time to rinse his face and brush his teeth, nearly choking on a mouthful of frothy toothpaste when he heard a knock at his door.

"Honey, are you awake yet? It's almost eleven thirty and I'm about to make lunch!" The elder Briefs woman was at his door, her voice bright and cheerful as always. Vegeta felt his stomach drop somewhere around his knees. Lunch?! How could she be so calm on a day like today, he thought, rinsing his mouth and slamming the cold water tap shut before he ran out to his balcony.

In the middle of his running start into flight, Vegeta stopped in his tracks and the first part of the woman's sentence suddenly hit him: it was eleven thirty in the morning, which meant Kakarot and the other had the greatest head-start of their lifetimes.

Then he realized it was _eleven thirty in the morning_ , which meant the battle would already be underway. He had to get to those androids and destroy them before Kakarot could! He could not let another victory slip from between his fingers! Cursing in his native tongue, Vegeta jumped into the air and headed towards the collection of familiar energies somewhere in the distance.


	69. Unravel

The ship's incoming call signal had started just as Kohara was relaxed, sinking deeper into her massive pilot's chair, and with an irritated groan she accepted the call. When she recognized Sikari's face, she rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. "This better be good, Sikari!"

"My dear," Sikari gave the young woman a patient but cold smile, "I simply wish to check in with you. How are you faring?"

"Uugh, I'm fine! Why do you keep calling me every forty fucking hours?!"

"You are my partner, Kohara. It is only good business sense for me to keep in touch. Not to mention, I _am_ chivalrous man and I only want to confirm that you are well..."

"Ugh, whatever," Kohara's sneer grew, "just give me your status report, alright? I'm trying to wind down here!"

Sikari's thin onyx lips curled up to reveal his jagged yellow teeth and bright red gums. "As per our agreement, I am going to monitor sectors along the edges of PTO boundaries. With that in mind, I'm not willing to cross the border alone at this time due to any number of dangers out there."

"Mm, good idea, I guess... but you don't think Vegeta might just head out into uncharted territory on a whim or anything?"

"No," Sikari's firm answer was instantaneous, "that Saiyan wouldn't last very long without access to healthcare or a consistent food supply. Vegeta may be strong, but he needs to eat every few hours, and he often gets in over his head and winds up getting injured. Claims it all makes him stronger, heh..."

"Just how often do you eat, Sikari?"

"Eh, I can eat something and let it digest for a few months before I'll need something else... really, I can go up to two years without eating."

Kohara's nose wrinkled, revolted by this tidbit of information, and she continued leaning back in her huge chair, watching as Sikari's stared at her. Even with so much distance now between them, Kohara still felt creeped out by the bounty hunter. As a token of their new alliance, Sikari had given her three hairs from the top of his head, bulbous root shaft and all, and he had suspended them in vial of a clear solution that would slowly dissolve the hair and turn it into a powerful poison, and while Kohara appreciated the new addition to her arsenal, she was still disgusted by the man.

" So you don't think he'd be one to venture out of PTO territory, hmm? Well, that does make sense... anyway, I checked out Planet 79. Apparently he hasn't been 'round there for years. The apartment he shared with his comrades has been turned over to new tenants, and questioning them turned up nothing. I mean, _obviously,_ " she sneered when Sikari's expression betrayed his annoyance, "they were cool enough to invite me in for a couple drinks, though! My next stop is Station 6. Apparently he was seen skulking around there a while back... according to my contact, he got had an, ahem, altercation in a nightclub and may have been stabbed. He killed the guy who stabbed him, but there's a chance Vegeta's been laying low in the area. I ain't so sure that's relevant now, but it's worth a look at any rate."

"Forget it, Kohara. You're a fool to accept drinks from a complete stranger like that- focus on the mission, girl! As for your idea of Vegeta being in or near Station 6... there's just no way he'd be hanging around that area if he got hurt... Vegeta runs away from something the minute he's hurt."

Kohara raised a brow. She loathed Sikari's tendency to condescend. "Fair enough," she kept her voice even, "then I'm going to check something out... call it a gut feeling, yeah? I'm worried about this call being intercepted, so I'll contact you later. Don't bother me! I'll call you for a change, okay? Bye!"

She disconnected and heaved a massive sigh. "Not gonna leave PTO territory, huh... well, no sense in rushing around when the creep himself is lurking around the edges of the territory. Guess I'm gonna go to Station 6 to have some fun!"

With a wicked grin spreading across her pale face, Kohara slumped back in her chair and reached for her smoking papers so she could begin rolling a celebratory cigarette.

* * *

_"Hey, Mom," Trunks jogged into his mother's spacious lab, keen to observe what she was up to, "I just wanted to see how you're doin'! How's that new machine you're working on?"_

_Bulma couldn't help but marvel at her son's boundless energy. Trunks was ten years old and in the midst of a growth spurt; already five foot two, with thin, gangly limbs, an endless appetite, and seemingly outgrowing his shoes and clothing every three months._

_"Oh, I'm working away here... it's not gonna work overnight, that's for damn sure..."_

_"Mom!"_

_"I know, I know," Bulma eased herself into a chair and reached for her cigarettes, "you don't like it when I cuss... geez, if your father were around to hear this..."_

_"Will you tell me a bit more about him, Mom? Please? What was dad like? How did you two even meet, anyway?"_

_The engineer laughed before betraying a heavy sigh. She missed Vegeta too much to express but her memories of him were tinged with regret and resentment, and she wasn't willing to tell her young son the ugly truth about his father quite yet. Trunks knew that his father was from another planet, but otherwise Bulma was very sketchy regarding other details. She struggled to take the time (and it really did take a while) to remember the positive things about Vegeta. Sometimes, she lied in order to spare her son some of the more upsetting or outright disturbing details of his father. "Well... your father, ah... geez, Trunks, he was a smart guy. A lot more intelligent than he liked to let on, for sure. Like sometimes I'd just listen to him, when he was in the right mood I mean, and his insights would just blow me away. He was surprisingly well-spoken an-"_

_"Why would that be a surprise?"_

_"Do you remember the story I told you about your dad landing here?"_

_Trunks took a moment to recall the story of his father landing on Earth: according to his mother, it all started when his father's ship was hit by a meteorite and he wound up stranded on Earth. Although hurt, his father had found Capsule Corp and Bulma repaired his ship while his late grandmother nursed the injured alien back to health. Through months of exposure, his father had learned to converse with the humans and soon expressed that he wished to live with the family for a while. Nine months later, Trunks had been born, and it had been a happy occasion for everybody. They had been discussing marriage when Vegeta had been killed by the androids. Trunks had only been ten months old when it happened, so he had no memories of the man._

_"Oh, yeah... so was English his second language? Why would my Dad being a smart guy be a weird thing? You're an inventor, Mom!"_

_Again, Bulma laughed and then sighed. "Yes, English was his second language. As for your father being smart... he certainly was intelligent, but he did so many stupid things..."_

_Trunks barely suppressed a scowl and opted to look at his "new" running shoes. He had started wearing them eight weeks prior and already he felt like his toes were being pinched. Lately he was even hungrier than usual and felt like his entire body hurt sometimes, especially when he wasn't able to get out all the crazy energy bouncing around inside his body. "Oh... you seem really mad at him sometimes. Like, a lot of the time..."_

_"Your father did a lot of really stupid things, Trunks," Bulma took another drag off her cigarette and tried to blink away the tears forming in her eyes, "sometimes I'm angry because he didn't fully consider the risks before going to fight the androids..."_

_"Did he really run after them when they appeared, Mom? That's what grandma told me. She said he woke up, got dressed, and went to stop them without even saying goodbye to anybody. I don't think you shouldn't get angry at Dad for that. He must have really loved you if he tried to stop them right away instead of stalling for time by talking to you guys. I think he must have been scared, but he must have been like: "I gotta stop these bad guys right now! There's no time to waste and I can't get scared! Mommy and Trunks are at home!", you know?"_

_Bulma stubbed her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and then left her chair to bring her son into a tight embrace. It took all of her strength not to cry. At some point she would have to tell him a bit more of the truth, but for now she'd let him remain ignorant. There was so little happiness left in the world, it seemed, so how could she strip him of that bit of bliss so soon? After all, his childish admiration for the father he never met gave her a little bit of joy as well._

* * *

With the water so hot it was barely tolerable, Vegeta sunk beneath the surface, plugging his nostrils and squeezing his burning eyes shut, remaining at the bottom of the deep bathtub until his quickening pulse pounded through his body and his lungs were screaming for oxygen.

He pushed himself up, taking in cool fresh air in a ragged gasp and huffing when he registered the air cooling down his overheated bare skin. Vegeta pushed himself out of the tub, noticing the water was tinged grey-pink with blood and dirt that accumulated after unknown hours of gruelling training with the boy from the future... his son, Trunks.

His son. His flesh and blood.

Needless to say they were not getting along.

The boy was just at the cusp of adulthood; tall and effortlessly fit and free of any sign of aging. He was nearly ten inches taller than Vegeta (which annoyed him more than he would ever care to admit) fair-skinned and blue eyed and apparently a bit clueless regarding the privilege of his conventionally attractive appearance. While the half-Saiyan possessed his father's brow, intense almond-shaped eyes and small, slightly pointed nose, his cheeks were light pink and plump, lips fuller and softer, and the energy that lay behind his bright eyes was far more innocent and good-natured than his own.

" _Hey!"_ A reedy voice buzzed around the back of his head.

"Fuck off," Vegeta dismissed the voice, "you're not real."

" _You should leave for good,"_ the voice hissed, _"you're all used up."_

"I'm busy," Vegeta muttered, combing through his hair with his fingers.

" _Hey!"_

Vegeta ignored the voice.

" _Hey! Hey! Hey!"_

The Saiyan started thinking about getting something to eat, anything to block out the annoying voice. He wanted something light and preferably savory. Suddenly, he remembered that he'd learned to make a club sandwich in some lifetime outside of the white void, and decided it would be a good choice.

Towel wrapped around his hips and hair dripping, Vegeta exited the washroom and went into the small kitchen in their tiny living area. It had been six weeks since the Saiyan had entered the hyperbolic time chamber with his son, and with every passing day Vegeta felt like another thread of his sanity had been plucked from his mind. He was unravelling and he knew it: on five separate occasions he had heard voices outside his own head, nasty little things taunting him and suggesting he go talk a long walk into the endless white void that lay just outside the small sanctuary where he ate, slept, and recovered.

Trunks was in the same condition as his father; battered and beaten, lower lip split and dark purple bruises blooming across his body. He avoided his father's gaze entirely, fearing another strike, or worse yet, another barrage of insults.

"Boy," Vegeta muttered as he passed by his son and went to look in the refrigerator. If there was one decent thing about the void he'd willingly entered in order to reach the next peak of power, it was that there was always food in the refrigerator and pantry. The Saiyan ate all the fatty fish and fruit his heart desired, and with each passing day he seemed to put on just a little more muscle. He lost more body fat than ever before and grew vascular in the process. Six weeks into his intense training, Vegeta's face lost its residual softness and he suddenly looked around ten years older.

Trunks only gave his father the smallest and slowest of nods to acknowledge his presence, too nervous to speak. If he did, there was around an eighty percent chance he'd either be ignored or insulted. The remainder of the time, Vegeta turned it into a reason to strike him, or only spoke to him in a cool, terse voice.

Vegeta was content with the boy's response. He prepared four sandwiches for himself, each loaded with sliced tomato and extra sliced turkey, and wandered into a tiny living area to eat by himself.

" _Hey!"_

Vegeta took a bite of his sandwich and ignored the voice. He didn't know what to make of the refrigerator and pantries that were magically replenished (for all his psychic abilities, Vegeta was still unnerved by the concept of magic) but the food was so good that Vegeta decided that if he could use a magical pantry that replenished itself, he could just learn to accept its existence. 

" _You should take a long walk..."_

"Will you shut the fuck up? Ugh!"

Trunks overheard his father snapping at _somebody_ and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I didn't say anything, he thought, too nervous to speak out loud.

" _Kill yourself. You're worthless. You are not strong enough to take on what's coming."_

"Says you," Vegeta spoke through a mouthful of club sandwich, "asshole."

In the other room, Trunks continued to listen in on his father apparently talking to himself before his concern took over. "Uhh... D—Dad? Are you alright?"

"Fuck off," Vegeta's snarl carried into the kitchen where Trunks remained seated.

" _They don't really care about you. Nobody does. They don't really need you. You could walk out into that great white void and nobody would ever bother trying to find you- they've got better things to do. You're unwanted and unloved and that will never change."_

Vegeta threw the quarter-sandwich he'd been about to bite into back onto his plate, quickly stood up, and stared out into the void that began just a few feet from the firm couch he'd been sitting on.

"Fine," he sighed, "then I will go for a walk..."

There were three steps that led down into the void. It reminded Vegeta somewhat of taking steps down to a riverside dock, and when he stepped into that white space the feeling of his feet being weightlessly supported by nothingness send a chill up his spine.

He had walked several miles into the void before, but had never strayed beyond a place where he could still spot the sanctuary. With the disembodied voice laughing around him, Vegeta ran into the void. He would keep going until he could not longer see the sanctuary, and then he would continue walking until he dropped dead from exhaustion or dehydration, whichever came first.

After all, he thought, it's not like they're going to care if I don't return. They have their precious Kakarot and the boy...

* * *

_"Did Da- er, did my father ever hit you, Mom?" Trunks watched his mother's weary face as she tried to eat and only managed to pick at her dinner._

_"Nope," Bulma replied immediately, shaking her head, "he had a shitty temper, but he never raised a hand to me."_

_Trunks was skeptical. Over the years the young man had gradually rejected the idea that his father was some sort of deeply flawed but ultimately well-intentioned man, gathering enough information from whispered stories and anecdotes that led him to the conclusion that his father had been a violent, angry, and deeply selfish man._

_"I don't believe you," he muttered, "Vegeta was a colossal prick who hated women."_

_Bulma sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Trunks had just turned sixteen and his hormones were raging, and although he trained every day and continued obeying his mother, he frequently argued and stormed out of rooms in a huff. There were endless slamming doors, inhuman screams that only Saiyan vocal cords could produce, and plenty of dinners eaten in tense silence._

_"Well, I knew the man. You didn't. And if I say your father didn't hit me, I mean it. Look at it this way: it's one thing he did right."_

_Trunks hissed with derision and picked at his dinner._


	70. Fire and Water

Third cigarette in a row burning close to the filter, Bulma dropped it into her long-neglected cup of coffee and sighed. All she knew at that point was that Vegeta and the future-version of her son had gone into a chamber where the conventional laws of time and space did not apply in order to prepare themselves for yet another looming threat.

Krillin had stopped by the Capsule compound to relay all the latest information, none of it good. Furious with the recent turn of events, Bulma had opted to prepare two mugs of instant coffee; one for herself and another for the shaken-up man who had come to deliver the news.

Apparently Vegeta had been badly beaten by one of the androids and his mood had gone from extremely irritable to seething with rage, and (quite predictably) he'd run away after receiving a senzu bean, forcing a beleaguered Future Trunks to follow him yet again. According to Krillin, the Saiyan had goaded the female android into battle, launching insults so deeply sexist that stunned onlookers on both sides warned him to stop before he finally pushed her over the edge.

"So what did the idiot say to finally tick her off?"

"Um," Krillin shifted in his chair, "I'd... rather not... um... uh... it was really gross, Bulma... he uh... oh man... hecalledheracocksuckingdishwashingcuntokay? Don't make me say it again!"

When Bulma's face went brick red with fury and revulsion, Krillin scoped out the nearest exit just in case she started swinging at him. Few people really knew it, but Bulma had a nasty punch.

"And she broke his arm, right?"

Krillin gave a weak nod. "Uh, she snapped his arm. It was completely twisted around when she was done with him."

Bulma lit another cigarette and smirked. "Good."

Things had gone from bad to infinitely worse, and the woman did not dare imagine what could possibly come next. She loomed over her hastily drawn blueprints for a detonator to detonate the bombs inside the androids, rubbed her temples and sighed. She could feel a headache coming on, but there was no way she could stop now. She simply could not stop. Her stomach rumbled. Lunch would be soon, and she couldn't wait for some solid food. I'll take a break during lunchtime, she thought, until then I gotta' keep going!

She'd worked on the detonator for a few minutes before finally speaking again: "still, I wonder how Vegeta and Trunks are doing right now..."

* * *

He had walked so far into the void that the sanctuary had vanished, well beyond his range of sight. The air temperature continued to rise; it was so hot by that point that fat beads of sweat dripped down the Saiyan's brow and back. The void around him was no longer white but the angry orange hue of wildfire, streaked with black and splatters of red.

I've done it, he thought, I have reached the edges of Hell. Surely, I will die soon.

Vegeta panted and continued walking, once stumbling and catching himself before he fell. His feet started to drag, but he pressed on into the oppressively hot space. His stomach contracted uncontrollably and he dry heaved, unable to bring anything up.

_My boy, what are you doing to hurt yourself this time?_

A disembodied and distantly familiar voice boomed around Vegeta, who came to a halt and searched for the voice. "Who are you? Show yourself!" Vegeta's voice crackled and popped, throat parched and prickling from a lack of water.

" _Daaaaad!_ " A panicked voice somewhere in the distance, this one somehow tangible.

_Stumbling around in circles, dazed and mumbling nonsense to yourself. Look at yourself, boy! What dignity have you now?_

"Whoever you are... go fuck yourself! Aaagh!" Vegeta pushed out a flickering ki flare for five seconds before dropping to his knees, gasping for breath. He had pushed himself somewhere beyond the realm of exhaustion; the familiar taste of blood crept up his raw throat and he coughed, taking in great lungfuls of hot, heavy air that sunk deeper into his chest the more he gasped. Abdominal muscles cramping with enough intensity to keep him doubled over and curling into an increasingly-tight ball, Vegeta strained his neck to look up, seeing the imposing figure of his feather forming in front of him, regal in his traditional Saiyan armour and velvety cape the colour of iris.

King Vegeta stood over eight feet tall, towering and broad and heavy, his stony face unmoving and unfeeling. Vegeta looked up at the figure of his long-dead father, too stunned to even think of engaging his vocal cords in speech.

" _Daaaaaaaaaad!_ "

Vegeta struggled to get to his knees, staggering and failing to steady himself twice before he knelt before the vision of his father, staring up into his red agate eyes and struggling to find anything to say. Was this real?

"Am I alive?"

_For now. Don't take it for granted, for once in your life._

"Is this Hell?"

_If it is, you certainly are not welcome here. All your second chances and an unprecedented opportunity to whittle away at your weaknesses, and instead you opt to try and crawl to your own death? What cowardice is this?! How you disappoint the Saiyan race yet again, Vegeta. Be gone from my sight!_

The figure of King Vegeta dissolved with a puff of sulphuric smoke and flame as his son's face contorted a horrified, silent scream. The angry orange air around him grew heavier still, and at the edges of his vision a familiar, fuzzy darkness threatened to creep in closer.

"DAD! Oh, thank god! Dad!"

Vegeta felt himself being pulled up to his feet and he carelessly swung himself around, feeling his fist crack into something that felt like flesh and clothing.

"Ge'off'me! Lemme go!" The Saiyan pulled against a set of arms that wrapped around his stomach from behind, kicking and flailing as he was picked up. Everything in his body hurt and burned. He was hotter than he'd ever felt before, past the point of sweating and unsure as to how much longer he could go on. He continued to resist, landing a few weak punches on the figure holding him and trying to drag him, and as he managed to twist himself around in the figure's vice grip so he could see his target and take another swing.

"Stop! Damn it, stop!" It was his son, or the future version of his son, his aura pulsing golden light and turquoise eyes wide with fury.

"Don'tellme what t'do!" Vegeta managed to wrench free of Trunks' grip and staggered forward six feet before dropping to his knees. When he felt Trunks straddling him and wrapping his legs around his torso, Vegeta tried to struggle a final time before the pressure of the heavier man's submission hold on his constricted chest caused him to pass out.

* * *

_Vegeta's eyes fluttered open and he found himself laying in the shallowest part of a tiled pool of warm water, dressed in a loose white linen robe that reached his knees. Above him were vaulted ceilings the colour of amber, and through tall windows paned with thin glass came thick beams of undiluted sunlight._

_He sat up, discovering his body free of pain, and ran his fingers across the fine graded aquamarine tiles in the pool. He knew this room somehow: it was a place he'd been to in some other distant lifetime, during a time of security and knowledge that his station in life was not only predestined but exactly what he craved._

_The Saiyan caught the smell of something floral, close to lilies and violet and anise flower, mixing with the heady scent of incense, and he fell back into the water, reaching up towards the distant ceiling._

_Everything you could ever desire is at your fingertips, he could recall a low-pitched and breathy woman's voice telling him, and it will come to you when the time is exactly right... reach for it and it will be yours!_

_"I want it all..."_

* * *

"So, Bulma... could I ask you a question about Vegeta?" Krillin set his glass of water down and avoided making eye contact with the woman across the table. They had taken an early lunch break and found Mrs. Briefs had prepared a spread of sandwiches, potato salad and green salad.

"Sure," Bulma spoke through a mouthful of turkey, tomato and cheddar on sourdough.

"Well... why did you ever hook up with him? I'm sorry, that's rude... but c'mon, you know it's gonna raise some eyebrows!"

"Whatever," the engineer set her sandwich down, "the truth is, I was bored with Yamcha at least two years before Goku's brother showed up, and then Vegeta showed up and once he was living here..."

"And why the hell did you invite him to live with you, anyway?!"

"Where else was he gonna go, Krillin? A hotel? Besides, I felt sorry for the guy. He looked like shit when he wound up here. Then we got to talking and spending time together..." she dissolved into a weary sigh and looked out the window, desperate to blink away the tears forming in her eyes, "...I really thought at one point we were gonna be something... how dumb is that, huh? I dumped a jackass and fell so hard for a complete asshole!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Bulma," Krillin tried to reassure the increasingly distraught woman, "it's not every woman that would help a man like that... and, besides... your son is beautiful. You should be proud of that, Bulma."

The engineer knew the man was trying to offer words of comfort, but the ache in her heart was far too deep to be placated by reassurance. She sighed and continued looking out the window, realizing her appetite had all but vanished. Without even needing to look, Bulma reached for her pack of cigarettes (she was already halfway through what had been a fresh pack that morning, and she could usually make a pack last two or even three days) and lighter. If she didn't get some nicotine into her bloodstream fast, Bulma thought she may descend into a full-blown panic attack. The thought that her baby boy, or the future version of her baby boy, was locked inside a chamber outside of conventional space and time with the man who had both loved and hurt her so deeply shook her to her core.

"I wonder how they're doing in there..."

* * *

Vegeta came to on a familiar mattress, with a damp towel draped across his pounding forehead and a single light sheet covering his battered nude body. An electric fan oscillated from left to right with little more than a quiet whoosh.

His body ached in a way that he wished he did not find familiar; an unquenchable fatigue had settled into his bones and the act of remaining conscious took more strength than he had left reserved within him.

Determined and teeth grinding together, Vegeta pushed himself up into a seated position and looked to his right, very surprised to find his son passed out in a chair, arms folded tight across his chest and chin dipping against his collarbone.

Vegeta lay back down on the bed, far too tired to consider standing up, and fell back asleep mid-thought, considering the benefits of a glass of water as his eyes shut once more.


	71. A Little Common Ground

The wicker fan that lazily spun over the table Kohara shared with her contact had seen better days; it was riddled with holes and wobbled as it spun, producing a tiny squeal that managed to fade deeper into the background noise the longer the bounty hunter sat in the grungy tavern.

"So what's your interest in this guy, eh Kohara? Vegeta ain't one to be fooled with, you know. He's a strong sonuvabitch," the contact, an ageing bounty hunter named Altere, had always been reasonably friendly with Kohara and was almost concerned for her, "I'm not going anywhere near him. Don't even care if the bounty is so big. Not worth it, as far as I'm concerned."

Kohara's pale face went hard with rage and she took a long sip of the lukewarm brew she'd ordered from the bar, and she shuddered at the awful taste that filled her mouth after she swallowed. The water on the planet (what little there was) was far too polluted to drink and one of the only things available to drink at the few establishments around was a slightly bitter and cloudy alcoholic brew. "Ugh... why do you live here, dude?"

Altere sighed and took a long sip of brew from his ceramic mug. "For the scenery and amenities, of course." The man stood six and a half feet tall, lean and especially graceful. His skin was the colour of dried orange peel, his cat-like face lined with wrinkles from decades of sun exposure. His thinning hair, the colour of limestone, was pulled back into a tight braid that hung down his long back. A pair of narrow and deep-set eyes the colour of polished turquoise stone stared into Kohara's, silently probing her for an answer to the question she did not answer.

Kohara stared back at the man and hissed through bared teeth before finally speaking. "It's personal shit, alright?"

"Oh?" Altere's chin tilted up and he raised his eyebrows, interest piqued.

"You don't wanna know."

"On the contrary, my dear, I do want to know! You haven't exactly given me any good reason to hand over the information you seek, should I really have any..."

The young woman leaned back against her seat and ran her tongue over her teeth. "Um. I was fourteen when it happened. My father ran a parts supply depot for Frieza, got into some major debt problems... and when we couldn't pay the annual tax to Frieza, he sent Vegeta and his two cronies to our house to collect. They burned my father's business to the ground, killed all of his employees, and then moved onto our house, killed all the men and my mother first... the two big guys he works with took off with my older sister..." she faded off and shuddered.

"How did you survive? Vegeta's usually so thorough in his work."

"One of Vegeta's cronies figured punching me in the back of the head would kill me, but it only knocked me out. I woke up some time later to the house catching on fire, everybody else dead, and Vegeta and his partners long gone. I managed to crawl of the house out and to relative safety, was taken to a hospital, and told to leave the planet the moment I could walk in a straight line."

"How old were you?"

"I already told you! Fourteen!"

"And you were just expected to leave your planet?"

Kohara leaned back in her seat and glared at the old man across the table. "Yeah, I was! Nobody else wanted to even get a whiff of that sort of bad business with Frieza for fear of attracting his wrath, so banishing me was the most sensible course of action. I drifted for about a year, learned to take real good care of myself, and the rest is history."

"How old are you now?"

"Heh, I stopped keeping track a while ago. I might be thirty three or something, maybe older."

Altere considered Kohara's story. It sounded true, he decided, and without a word he reached into his black canvas backpack and produced a small buttoned pouch made of leather. He retrieved three photographs and slid them across the table to the young bounty hunter, who was quick to pick them up and inspect them.

"What the fuck is _that_ thing?" Kohara's eyes narrowed as she studied the strange object in the printed photograph, trying to decipher the strange script on the side of what had to be a ship from a planet out of PTO boundaries.

"Friend of mine sent me a couple of interesting shots of a strange ship sighted on a few planets... it very well may be Vegeta's ship."

The woman snorted and tilted her head, trying to see if she could piece together the writing. She'd never seen anything like it before! What sort of strange aliens had created a ship like that, and if Vegeta was using it, had it been given to him freely? "You ever seen script like this, Altere? This is some weird shit..."

"I have not."

"This has to be from a place outside PTO boundaries," Kohara sighed and considered the pattern of the stars in the photographs, "and some guys don't cross those boundaries..."

_If he's on a planet outside of PTO borders and secured some sort of alien ship, they must have have a presence in some sort of nearby galactic territory... and if Sikari refuses to go beyond the border..._

The older man cleared his throat. "Don't tell me you're gonna... oh, Kohara, that's just stupid!"

"I might," Kohara tried to suppress a smirk, "who knows? Anyway, what do I owe you for the pictures?"

Altere barely concealed a laugh and returned Kohara's smirk. "When you come back alive with Vegeta's head in your hands and you collect that bounty, we can discuss payment. I wish you all the best of luck."

"Cheers," Kohara took the photographs and slipped them into a pouch in her leather bag and pushed herself out of her seat, "it's much appreciated. At any rate, I'm sick of the sludge that passes for beer on this planet, so I'll be on my way now."

* * *

Vegeta couldn't remember the last time he'd had difficulty walking across a smooth tile floor to access a refrigerator barely twenty feet from his bed. He shuffled into the kitchen, grabbed a large bottle of water, and shuffled back to his bed.

"Hey..." Trunks' right eye cracked open and he gave his father a weak nod from the nearby couch, "good t'see you up..."

"Mm," Vegeta opened the bottle and took a long gulp of cold water, sighing with relief when his parched mouth became moist again, "whatever, kid."

The Saiyan set his water on the bedside table, lay back down, and cycled in and out of a shallow sleep for several more hours, waking long enough to take a few sips of water before his eyes would droop and he'd sink back into the bed.

Trunks watched his father as his own emotions kept swinging between burning resentment and confused pity for the man. For the first time, Trunks noticed that the usually stone-faced and mercurial Saiyan slept on his side, curled up under a layer of blankets pulled to his chin. More often than not, the only visible part of Vegeta was his hair. When Trunks did see his father's face, he noticed the hardness in his features gave way to something that could only be inner turmoil. Sometimes, he tossed and turned in his sleep, grimacing and begging for some unknown tormentor to leave him alone.

Although he couldn't be entirely certain, Vegeta finally rose from his bed after what felt like a full day of sleeping, body still aching, and walked into the kitchen to find Trunks cooking several large pieces of chicken on an electrical grill.

"I figured you'd be up soon, so I started making something for both of us to eat..." Trunks spoke nervously, unsure of how his father would react. The man hadn't been stable for weeks.

"Mm," Vegeta sat down at the table, "that's fine. Serve me when it's ready."

Trunks had already grilled two full chicken legs and breasts and put it on a plate along with chunks of roasted sweet potato and sauteed spinach. Vegeta ate right away, tearing apart the chicken with his fingers and cracking the bones with his teeth to suck out any marrow. At one point, he stopped and rose from his chair to retrieve a sealed half gallon bottle of a sugary cola.

"Don't tell me you drin-" Trunks stopped himself before he said any more, certain it would be enough to set off his father.

"This stuff isn't too bad once in a while. Your mother once yelled at me once because she found out I'd been taking money from her purse to go buy chips and salsa from a store down the street. She said that she couldn't believe I eat what you people call junk food. You kind of sound like her."

Trunks cracked up laughing at the image of his father doing something as mundane as picking up junk food at a convenience store. "You ever try one of those slushy drinks?"

Vegeta looked at his son through narrowed eyes and cleared his throat. "The black cherry is good," he muttered before clearing his throat again, "so I take it that corner store still exists seventeen years in the future?"

"Not exactly. Mom basically stocked up on every supply imaginable when the android crisis started going from bad to worse, and that included a thirty year supply of cigarettes and enough syrup to keep one of those machines churning out sugary slush for a lifetime."

Vegeta snorted and rolled his eyes. "So she still smokes, eh? It figures she would. Hmm... you do look a bit like her."

"I think it's the hair," Trunks offered nervously, "but she says I have your facial features."

"Did she say she was glad you didn't get my hairline?"

Trunks bit his lip and looked away, which Vegeta took as a "yes". He snorted and rolled his eyes. "It figures she'd say that."

They ate in silence for several comfortable minutes. Trunks was very amused by his father's choice of junk food, and the words they had just exchanged had been some of the friendliest ever. He was certain his father's words about his mother were tinged with fondness, which he had not expected whatsoever.

Vegeta broke the silence as he cleared his plate: "You were a fucking idiot to come after me like that."

"What were you thinking?! Why did you just wander off like that?" Trunks shot back without considering his words, and he was certain the full-blooded Saiyan would lose his temper.

Instead, Vegeta shrugged. "This place is fucked up, and it's fucking with my head... I just went for an impulsive walk, that's all. I'll get over it."

Trunks wondered if he should even respond. After another familiar moment of tense consideration, he did. "Well, you were maybe twenty miles from our living area here, walking around in circles. So, uh... that's quite the walk, I guess. Do you want to leave? We can- I mean, only if you want."

" Yeah right! And pass up the chance to reach a new level of power? Forget it. _You_ leave if you're going to pussy out. I can only keep going up. I'm staying in here."

Trunks grumbled and went back to eating his meal. Living in such close quarters with his father had been an intimidating prospect in itself, but doing it for such an extended period of time in complete isolation was perhaps the most frightening thing he'd ever been subjected to in his already chaotic and violent lifetime.

His mother had described Vegeta as "a bit on the crazy side", which had been nothing short of an understatement. Vegeta was, as far as Trunks could tell, absolutely batshit crazy. His moods swung from cool and impersonal but professional conduct to vicious anger that included bursts of physical abuse to paralysing depression that seemed to render him mute. There were occasions when he was talkative, revealing the sharp wit and eloquence his mother had spoken of when Trunks had been younger and curious about his father, and for a brief second he could almost understand why his mother may have sought his company. For all of his overt aggression and his dangerous reputation, Vegeta also wielded a charismatic energy that drew others in whether they liked it or not.

With that said, everything else about the Saiyan's personality repulsed Trunks. As far as he could tell, Vegeta was a proudly violent man, prejudiced against all non-Saiyans by default, deeply angry, sexist, foul-mouthed, and worst of all, he saw absolutely nothing wrong with his personality or behaviour.

He may have been funny and well-spoken, but what exactly did his mother see in the man? It seemed like the bad far outweighed any good in the man.

Trunks just couldn't figure it out. He didn't want to be in the chamber any longer, but he felt he had no choice. If he didn't watch and train with his father, who would? Did his father have any friends out there?

* * *

Bulma secured her cargo in the back of her airship in preparation for her trip to Kami's lookout, trying her best to suppress the feeling of dread brewing in her gut. She was worried about Vegeta, but she was especially worried about her son.

Something had happened in that space they were in, she was sure of it, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

_Get it through your head, dummy, Vegeta's probably going nuts in that time chamber. He's a few cards short of a deck on a good day, for godssake!_

She shuddered and for the first time in many years she said a little prayer, asking whatever was out there to look after both of the Saiyans in her life.


	72. The Beginning Of The End

* * *

The blue wind-up alarm clock Vegeta had learned to rely on within the hyperbolic time chamber went off at what he'd decided many weeks prior would have to serve for seven in the morning, and the Saiyan prince yawned and reached his arms above his head, stretching out his limbs as he lay underneath the thick pile of blankets he'd come to rely on during his sleeping hours.

As he eased back into consciousness, the realization that it was the final "day" within the time chamber bubbled up into his first active thought of the day, and the Saiyan sat up and heaved a sigh of relief.

For what it was worth, the Saiyan had managed to hold it together (for the most part) after his strange outburst early into the year-long period inside the time chamber. The voices still insulted and nagged at him, but he did a far better job of ignoring them, at least most of the time. There were moments when he'd talk back to a voice (usually telling it to "fuck off") but Vegeta made a point of keeping focused on his training.

Trunks had effectively given up on finding enough common-ground with his father in the hopes it would ease the hostility between them. The most Trunks received from his father in the way of paternal leadership and guidance were a few sketchy anecdotes about his earlier life (the stories always centred around conflict) and bits of advice that was nothing short of questionable.

"Never let a bitch get the upper hand," Vegeta had started speaking one evening during a shared dinner after several days of icy silence, "women specialize in getting under your skin. Don't let your guard down around one for even an instant."

"Is that how you went about treating my mother? You're way out of line."

Vegeta scoffed and picked the crispy skin off his piece of chicken. "Just some advice, kid. First your mother fucks around with my head, and then that mechanized cunt gets just a fraction of a second in on me..."

Trunks pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to scream in disgust at what his father was saying, but before he could stop himself a torrent of words seemed to spill from his mouth: "don't speak about my mother that way, you asshole! She didn't "fuck with your head", but you sure did a fine job of leaving her a devastated single mother barely into her thirties! That's your speciality, isn't it? Ruining people's lives? Or is it ducking responsibility? It sure is a good thing that I love her and she loves me, because you obviously have never shown or given anything resembling kindness, let alone love, towards any living creature! You are full of hate and ugliness, and I can't wait to be out of here so I can get away from you!"

"Oh, calm down, you bitch," Vegeta continued picking at his chicken drumstick, "I have no time for your whiny melodrama. Besides, your mother didn't think I was so ugly when she slept with me."

Rising from the table with a frustrated scream trapped in his throat, Trunks struggled to remind himself that his father was particularly talented at saying exactly the right thing to push somebody over the edge and at throwing punches.

It had been at least one week since their last encounter, and Trunks hadn't spoken a word to his father. Vegeta didn't really care either way, he had taken to training by himself during his waking hours and had little use for the boy.

The Saiyan pulled his tattered leggings on, wiped some sleep from the corner of his eyes, and went into the kitchen for something to eat. As he sat down at the tiny table with a plate of fresh fruit and a thick slice of toast, the huge hourglass by the door leading back into the real world had almost run out, after endless months of watching endless grains of sand pouring through the tiny neck at in ultra-slow motion, each grain glimmering in the white void like raw sugar crystals.

He could not wait to get out of the time chamber. Vegeta wanted to sleep in his own bed, he craved at least two dozen different dishes, wanted a fresh change of clothing, he needed a good fuck, and above all else he was raring to destroy the androids.

When I emerge from here, I will have progressed beyond my wildest expectations and I will destroy those metal nuisances, once and for all! And then there will be _nothing_ to get in my way!

The Saiyan bit down on a fresh grape and the smile that spread across his face was tinged with his growing need to kill something. He _needed_ something to be at his mercy, and the boy would simply not do.

Still, there was just enough time left for Vegeta to take a final shower, get dressed (his clothing had been reduced to tatters and armour almost too fragile and fractured to wear by that point) and maybe even take a twenty minute nap. He planned to make a point of setting his alarm clock and double checking to ensure it would go off.

* * *

Planet 1280 was a tiny blue sphere that orbited a warm and slightly distant star, mostly covered by shallow salt water seas and dotted with tiny islands that boasted lush vegetation and colourful fauna. The planet was a bit out of the way from major trading hubs, but its relative isolation was one of its most attractive qualities. The planet catered the wealthy and powerful who were seeking a bit of privacy (what little they could get in the PTO) and a place to relax. Depending on her reputation and hoping the planet's shop owners hadn't heard anything too negative about her old station, Malar had visited the few repair shops on the planet, eventually getting hired by a shop that was desperate for a skilled mechanic who could work on different kinds of vehicles.

Fully healed from her surgery, Malar had moved onto the planet a few weeks prior and had been quick to settle into her new, self-designed daily routine: she awoke early in the morning and swam in the sea, ate breakfast, repaired land vehicles, space ships and boats at the shop for roughly half the day, before finally retiring to the small beach-side hut she'd rented for a modest sum to nap, swim some more, and sunbathe.

It was a wonderful life, and Malar continued to struggle with the realization that it really was her life.

One morning, as Malar inspected the engine of a small boat, the roar of a sophisticated, high-speed spacecraft coming in for a landing filled the shop, startling the mechanic out of her relaxed mindset.

She jogged outside and her jaw dropped open when she laid eyes on the menacing black ship designed for a single traveller. It was no ordinary ship, with its sleek frame, gleaming opaque windows, and numerous gun barrels mounted on the front, back, and sides of the ship.

The door swung open and out jumped a pale woman dressed in dark leather trousers and a cropped black top, heavy leather backpack slung over one shoulder as she approached Malar, her mouth already fixed in a smirk.

"Hey, you Malar?"

Malar felt a creeping dread begin somewhere beneath the soles of her feet and it rose up her legs and into her guts at an alarming rate. "I am," the mechanic took a deep, controlled breath, "can I help you? Beautiful ship you're piloting! What seems to be the problem?"

"Ah," the woman giggled, "no issue with the ship. Nah, I'm looking to talk to _you_ about, ah, a mutual friend."

"Excuse me? Who are you, exactly?"

The woman did not identify herself. "You seen Vegeta recently?"

Malar felt the cold spread to her stomach. "Who?"

"Oh, please, do not play dumb with me! I already looked you up- you lived on Planet 79 at the same time as Vegeta, and I know you service PTO spacecraft and have for years. You know who Vegeta is."

"Ah, I haven't seen him, him, in years," Malar stammered and shivered despite the warm breeze rustling the tall trees around the shop, "I left Planet 79 at least fifteen years ago and have lost contact with Vegeta. True, he was a client of my shop, but I never associated with him or his comrades. If you are looking for him, I regret to tell you that I have no idea where he is or what he's up to. He may even be dead by now."

The pale woman rolled her bright eyes and grumbled. "What did I just tell you?"

Although growing sick to her stomach as fear coursed through her, Malar opted to stand her ground. She was bigger than this strange, pale woman, but she also knew that the stranger was armed. She would have to be as calm and cool as she could possibly manage.

"I already told you, I haven't seen Vegeta in years. What more do you want me to say?"

The woman sighed, let the thin leather strap of her bag slide down her arm, and retrieved a hand-held scanner from an inner pocket. "Could you please let me see your eye?"

"What the hell is that thing?" Malar was frozen in place.

"It's a retinal scanner. Now, please. Kneel down and keep your eyes open. If you have nothing to hide, then you should have nothing to fear."

Slowly, without breaking eye contact with the pale woman, Malar bent down on one knee, just lowering herself enough for the considerably shorter woman to hold the scanner to her left eye. On a small display screen came up basic information about Malar: she was over nine hundred years old, a skilled mechanic, worked aboard PTO spacecraft and had a very good working relationship with prominent members of the PTO, had no criminal record, and had recently been in hospital for a surgical procedure.

Without a criminal record, Kohara could not detain Malar, let alone shoot her in the head for only providing sketchy information when prompted.

"You just has some surgery, hmm? How are you feeling, Malar?"

Malar wanted to spit on the woman for being so intrusive. "What business is it of yours?"

The pale woman eyed the shiny vertical scar in the centre of Malar's chest as the taller woman rose and she put two and two together. "Heart surgery? Wow, that's pretty serious, isn't it? And expensive- I mean, I'm guessing you don't have decent health coverage, considering your last venture went bust and all..."

"I paid for my surgery fair and square, entirely out of pocket with my savings from my business, which I chose to shut down after several successful years, thank you very much, if you're trying to suggest I used stolen or misappropriated funds in any way. What exactly do you want?"

The woman giggled again, unmoved by the towering mechanic's sudden anger, and pushed a stray braid away from her face. "Oh, this has already been enlightening, Malar. My name is Kohara, and here is my contact information," the pale woman reached into her bag once more and retrieved a small piece of rigid piece of holographic plastic, roughly the size of a business card and handed it to Malar, "look at it in a dark room. Feel free to call me if you ever see a spherical white ship with small round windows and black lettering on it. Well, I'd best be on my way before this planet bores me into a stupor! Ugh, how can you even live on a planet like this? Nothing but water in between little sandboxes for islands and constant sunshine. Ugh! Good bye, Malar!"

Kohara returned to her ship, slammed the doors shut, and promptly took off, vanishing into space with a twinkle.

A bit stunned by everything that had just happened, Malar staggered back into her workspace and eased herself into the chair by her small desk. The holographic plastic card still in her hand, she held it up and inspected it, unable to suppress a bemused smirk as the card revealed the image of an upside-down humanoid stick figure enclosed within a narrow rectangle that flared out towards its top- a universally understood symbol representing death within the PTO.

She put the card in a drawer and sighed. Hopefully Vegeta was well out of harm's way and he would remain that way for years to come.

* * *

Bulma paced back and forth across the square white tiles of the lookout, puffing on a cigarette and trying to swallow a growing lump in her parched throat. Vegeta and her son (the future version of him, anyway) would be emerging from the time chamber in a matter of seconds. What would they look like? Had they made any progress, or had their perceived _year_ the chamber been nothing but a waste of time?

She took one final drag before extinguishing the spent cigarette in a potted palm, ignoring Tien's grumbling entirely.

"Oh, God, what if Vegeta went completely batshit crazy in there? What if this was just a waste of time and they've killed each other? What if-"

"Shh!" Tien cut Bulma off, "you'll find out soon enough! Why are you so worried about Vegeta, anyway? It's not like he's done anything to help you raise your child..."

"Oh, whatever," Bulma had to physically stop herself from reaching for the half-empty pack of cigarettes in her back pocket, "I'm doing just fine with this single mother business."

Tien rolled his eyes and leaned against an alabaster pillar, waiting for the doors to the time chamber to crack open once more.

Bulma looked over at Goku, who was patiently waiting (a rare thing for the exuberant Saiyan) alongside Gohan. If Goku was nervous about seeing Vegeta, he certainly didn't show it.

She approached Goku and sighed, knowing it could prompt a response from the man. Naturally, the sigh was enough to catch Goku's attention, but instead of asking Bulma what was wrong, the Saiyan was quick to reassure his dear friend: "don't worry, Bulma! Vegeta and Trunks did just fine in there! I know it!"

"How can you be so sure? What if- what if-" Bulma shuddered and went to reach for her cigarettes once more when the deafening crack of the gigantic ivory doors leading to the hyperbolic time chamber opened up once more.

As an otherworldly white light flooded through the growing crack in the doors, Bulma forgot about her cigarettes and, along with everybody else, awaited for the two warriors with bated breath.


	73. New Stakes

As he came into the kitchen with his legs feeling like they were about to turn into jelly, Vegeta saw the elder Briefs woman in the midst of cooking a huge meal while Bulma, Krillin, Yamcha, and the future incarnation of his son sat at the table, each of the buried in a thin magazine.

"Oh, sweetie," Mrs. Briefs beamed at the scowling Saiyan, "I've made tomato soup. Would you like some?"

Vegeta shrugged and took a seat at the table, with Bulma to his left, a chair immediately to his right, and Yamcha the next chair over. After a few moments, he realized everybody else at the table was reading the same magazine. Yamcha was the first to look up from his copy of the magazine, and he swallowed a dry lump in his throat before closing the magazine and silently sliding it over to the Saiyan.

"So, uh, you're in the tabloids, Vegeta..."

"I'm in the _what_ ," Vegeta took the magazine and slowly flipped through the pages until he stopped on what appeared to be a full page spread about _him_ , "what the fuck is this? Why the hell would _anybody_ on this planet want to write about _me_?"

Sensing the Saiyan's growing agitation, Mrs. Briefs placed a large mug filled with hot soup at Vegeta's place and took the remaining chair at the table. She dared to give Vegeta's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he studied the article, and though he grumbled and growled, he did not move away.

Vegeta couldn't read the text, but he studied the photos and illustrations that had been included: there was a grainy shot of what had to him standing in line at a fast food restaurant (he identified himself by his obvious hair and a heavy white wrist brace he could vividly recall wearing on his left arm after he'd been released from the hospital), an artists' forensic sketch that very accurately captured his face and the skull underneath his flesh, a distant but very clear action shot of him as a Super Saiyan, caught in mid-leap from the edge of a ten storey building up to a twenty five storey skyscraper, and, most disturbing of all, a photo showing him from the chest up some time after his terrible accident in the simulator, hooked up to life support, his bruised eyes swollen shut and his slack mouth filled with a ventilation tube.

He was not amused. Vegeta threw the magazine back at Yamcha and growled low in his throat, drumming his fingertips against the table surface.

"Oh, sweetie," Mrs. Briefs cooed and pushed the mug of soup a bit closer to the Saiyan, "we can't believe it either."

"Do I want to know what the text says?"

Yamcha loudly cleared his throat and opened his mouth to begin speaking, but Vegeta's wild-eyed stare instantly muted him. After holding the look for a moment to ensure the human got the unspoken warning, Vegeta sighed and took a sip of the soup. It was delicious- the older woman had obviously made soup out of fresh tomatoes.

"Uh, Da- Vegeta," Trunks spoke up, "it's not exactly negative, but it is kind of... _out there_ , if you know what I mean."

"Oh, please do elaborate," Vegeta rolled his eyes and took another sip of tomato soup, "because I'm just thrilled that some dickhead humans have apparently decided to write a _feature_ about me!"

Bulma spoke before Trunks could even open his mouth to reply. "To put it simply: a widely distributed but not exactly credible gossip magazine published an article about you. It's all about how you seem to have come from out of nowhere, and yes, there are passages in the article that suggest you may not be, ahem, human, and you've obviously demonstrated your powers in public before considering that picture of you jumping fifteen storeys high like it's no big deal. Most humans aren't anywhere near as physically fit as you are. Nor do they have, uh, skulls like you. Given that you've been associating with me and my family's company for a while now, and given that I've had a kid out of wedlock since you came here... well, of course there's going to be some tongues wagging in the company! The thing is, we have no idea where they got all this information."

"So who took the photo of me when I was in a coma, huh?" Another sip of soup. He was furiously angry but the ache of his empty stomach and general feeling of exhaustion compelled him to remain seated and eat something before he passed out.

"I'll get my lawyers on it right away, Veg-"

"Don't," even more soup, "if you and your family are indeed famous, I'm sure any legal action risks becoming publicized, thus attracting even more attention."

Everybody at the table went silent. Eventually, Krillin set his copy of the tabloid down and pushed it away. "Huh... well, I see the logic in that argument..."

Several minutes passed in silence before Vegeta spoke again: "more," he passed his mug over to Mrs. Briefs, "and some crackers."

Future Trunks leaned back in his chair and sighed. The last thirty six hours of his life had been an unreal procession of things rapidly going from bad to worse, culminating in Perfect Cell's declaration that they would engage in a televised battle in ten days time- nine days, now that he'd been at Capsule Corp for about a day. He was finally coming out of the numbing, dumbfounding haze of utter disbelief and despair, but now he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry out in frustration or destroy everything in his path.

When Mrs. Briefs returned with a second mug of hot tomato soup and a dozen crackers for Vegeta, the Saiyan resumed eating, breaking the round crackers into halves and dipping them into the hot liquid and then only taking miniscule bites. Bulma immediately recognized it as an outward sign of Vegeta's escalating anxiety and rubbed his broad, warm back. "This will blow over soon, I promise."

The Saiyan heaved a deep sigh that bordered on a growl and pushed the mug of soup away. "I'm going to go vomit, and then I'm going to bed."

Pressing his heels into the cool tile floor, Vegeta slid his chair back and stood up very suddenly, starting to retch as he exited into the hallway. Everybody at the table heard a nearby door slam and the mood grew tense again.

Finally, Trunks slammed his hands on the table and screamed. "How do you people live with him?! I cannot believe this shit! Fuck!"

Bulma had taken Vegeta's mug of soup and dipped her fingertip into it to test its temperature. "Oh wow," she sucked her fingertip, "you sound just like your father right now."

Trunks didn't respond verbally, but he did suck his teeth and cross his arms across his chest.

"You really are Vegeta's kid," Krillin looked up from his magazine and gave the teenager a small smirk, "whether you like it or not."

* * *

_A crack of thunder powerful enough to rattle the thick glass windows of Vegeta's bedroom woke up the exhausted Saiyan, who immediately wished he could just fall back asleep as his awareness of the world around him broadened and launched him into wide-eyed consciousness._

_He rolled over in his bed, switched on the lamp, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light before reaching for the glass of water on his bedside table. After finishing his water and taking a few more minutes to get his bearings, Vegeta left his bed._

_Vegeta and his two comrades had been on shore leave for just over three weeks, and the Saiyan prince had found it utterly impossible to sleep more than a few hours each night. He was exhausted and seemed to spend his days a few degrees out of alignment with the rest of the world, dragging his feet through washed-out, overheated days and sticky, bleary-eyed nights._

_When Vegeta found Raditz passed out and snoring and sprawled across a long section of oversize seating in their shared living area, he wasn't altogether surprised by the sight and simply rolled his eyes. He went into the connected kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator, settling on a couple pieces of fruit and some sort of effervescent liquid in a thick glass bottle with no label._

_He ate in silence (aside from Raditz' snores) while his mind teetered back and forth between resignation to what his life had become and the near-overwhelming urge to grab what he could and start running for his life._

_Vegeta was twenty eight years old and it seemed as though his life had settled into a routine of missions, travel, training, and terribly lonely periods on shore-leave. His actions and reactions felt automatic and procedural most of the time, but there were multiple incidents where Vegeta almost lost all sense of control, and a few occasions where Vegeta had almost certainly, albeit temporarily, lost his mind altogether. On one particularly disturbing occasion aboard a transit ship, Vegeta had woken up in the middle of the night and paced the room he shared with fifteen other soldiers, rambling incomprehensibly and referring to himself in the third person._

_Empty and aching stomach filled just enough to eliminate the sense of hunger, Vegeta leaned against the kitchen island and watched Raditz shift in his sleep and yawn once, gradually coming to. For the first time in a few years, Vegeta envied Raditz, deeply jealous of the long-haired Saiyan's apparent ability to take a nap just about anywhere. Not only could Raditz fall asleep wherever he pleased, but he also had an uncanny way of sleeping for as long as he would said he would; if Raditz announced he was going to sleep for eight hours, he slept for eight hours, and if he said he was only going to nap for twenty minutes, he would shut his eyes, drift off, and come to exactly twenty minutes later._

_Vegeta slowly twisted the cap off the unlabelled bottle, jumping away when it hissed loudly as excess gas was released. The hiss was enough to wake up Raditz, who immediately had his bearings and felt remarkably well-rested. He practically jumped off the couch and let out a mighty yawn."Heyyy," the elder Saiyan's husky voice rose when he spotted the bottle, "my jungle juice! I've been looking for that stuff forever!"_

" _Jungle juice," Vegeta mumbled, "is what, exactly?"_

" _Aw, c'mon," Raditz reached the kitchen island and took the bottle from Vegeta, "a refreshing blend of exotic fruits and very special herbs," he took a long sip before passing it to Vegeta, who only sniffed the liquid and glared at Raditz, "try it, you might just like it!"_

_Vegeta only took enough to wet the tip of his tongue and scowled when his mouth was filled with a slightly skunky taste that gave way to a cloying sweetness._

_"Eugh," he managed to swallow and grimaced, "that's foul."_

" _Suit yourself," Raditz took the bottle back and downed the remainder in two gulps, "you goin' out?"_

" _No. I haven't been sleeping much."_

_Raditz only shrugged and returned to the couch. "So why don't you go out and get drunk? You'll probably just pass out when you get back home..." the Saiyan's crackling speech drifted off into a contented sigh and he sunk into his seat._

_Vegeta returned to the refrigerator, stomach growling yet again. "Are you going out?"_

" _Mm, yeah, I guess," Raditz stretched and rose from the couch, apparently ready to leave, "some new bar opened up the next block over; you wanna check it out?"_

_Vegeta was so tired and so out of it that the journey over to the nearby nightclub didn't even register. He suddenly found himself in the middle of a huge, dark room filled with tiny bright lights and thumping music, surrounded by a small crowd of people more than happy to party their cares away. Why am I in here, he thought to himself as he downed a glass of some strong fruit liqueur, how did I get in here? After so many nights of fragmented sleep and weary days, Vegeta was so exhausted that the pulsing bassline of the track played over the speakers seemed to make his body twitch from the inside out._

_At some point in the night, Vegeta went to the washroom to relieve himself. A bit unsteady on his feet, he went over to the sinks to wash his bare hands and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks were sunken in, his large almond-shaped eyes dull and half-lidded with exhaustion. He noticed fine lines underneath his eyes, and the circles there deep purple like a bruise. His normally soft, tanned skin looked dry and pale. I look so old, he thought, when did I start looking so terrible?_

" _I have to get out of this life."_

_Hands away from the running stream of water, Vegeta kept staring at himself in the mirror, completely unaware of the other patrons taking notice of the Saiyan's weird behaviour._

_When Vegeta caught the sheer size of Raditz in his peripheral vision, he turned around just in time to see the elder Saiyan ducking into a bathroom stall with a strange woman, their drunken giggling echoing in the grimy space. He heaved an irritated sigh and left the washroom with the tap still running._

* * *

It was close to three in the morning when Vegeta awoke in his bed, his mouth dry and uncomfortably hot underneath one thin blanket. The little black cat called Scratch walked into his room as he came to and jumped up onto Vegeta's bed, trilling as it bumped his head against the Saiyan's chin.

"Hello, cat," the Saiyan gently rubbed the soft spot behind Scratch's right ear, "what do you want?"

A loud, insistent meow was the reply, and Vegeta figured it was the cat's way of telling him it was hungry.

"Hunger?"

Another loud meow and Scratch paced the length of the bed before jumping to the floor.

"Me too, cat," Vegeta got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, "let's go."

With the kitchen and dining area lit only by a single light above the cooking range, it took Vegeta a few minutes to find the food intended for the cat, and the Saiyan felt very stupid when he realized the food meant for the cat really was designated by the image of a cat's face on its colourful label. One time in the past he had mistakenly believed the can with the picture of the cat had indicated its contents consisted of some sort of processed and preserved cat meat paste, intended for humans to consume on crackers in a style similar to a food called "pâté ". After spreading a spoonful on a cracker and trying it, Vegeta decided the paste was completely repulsive (not to mention it reminded him of the notorious "protein-style" rations sometimes used on environmentally hostile planets) but he figured it was some sort of human foodstuff he simply disliked and left it alone.

After he'd set a plate of the soft cat food on the floor next to its water dish, Vegeta realized that was the first time he'd ever fed the cat himself.

In the refrigerator, Vegeta found leftover chicken and mushrooms in a tangy cream sauce in a large Pyrex glass bowl and figured it was meant for him. He spotted a small dish of rice and took it as well, heated them both in the microwave, took a seat at the table and ate in silence, his head in that strange place where he felt strangely calm and empty and yet anxious and filled with racing, uncontrollable thoughts.

After several minutes the cat wound back and forth between Vegeta's legs before giving one more loud meow and walking out of the room, presumably to find somewhere to sleep a couple of hours.

Vegeta pushed his food away and sighed, resting his chin in his palm and staring ahead at the microwave's tiny clock display, its green glow especially bright in the dimly-lit room. He did not want to think of what was looming in the near-future and desperately tried to suppress every nagging thought that reminded him that the stakes were suddenly a lot higher. For the first time in many years, Vegeta had something to lose: the roof over his head (even if the living situation got a bit strange at times), the woman he wasn't so sure he could bring himself to leave again, and the growing baby boy that was indeed his flesh and blood.

It was as though without warning the universe had given him new circumstances he'd only wished for in moments of deep despair, and now that these once wished-for circumstances were now tangible, Vegeta wasn't so certain he really wanted it. His life suddenly didn't seem like a game of survival and evasion any more; it had suddenly become very serious all too quickly for Vegeta to accept when he felt like accepting it, and now there were others involved that depended on him for safety and survival.

He absolutely hated that there was no way to delay or dodge the inevitable, because it meant that Vegeta was no longer in control of the situation yet again, and failure simply was not an option.

The Saiyan hunched over in his chair, elbows pressed into the tops of his thighs, and he brought his face into his hands.


	74. Out Of Options

Floating on his back in the warm saline pool water, Vegeta stared at the tiled ceiling and allowed his eyes to go out of focus. Another long day of intense training had left him completely exhausted, but his mind refused to slow down. There were but four days remaining before The Cell Games were to begin and the Saiyan was struggling with insomnia; averaging perhaps three and a half hours of sleep per twenty four hour period- enough for him to get through the day, but far from what he required to repair his body or perform to the standard he imposed on himself.

It was eight thirty in the evening, and after a huge evening meal (four pounds of grilled chicken breast, eighteen scrambled eggs, three pounds of sweet potatoes, a pound of green beans, two large containers of baby spinach with olive oil and vinegar drizzled on top, a gallon of full fat milk, an entire pot of steel cut oats with maple syrup and butter on top, a pint of cherries, and two thirds of a chocolate cake) Vegeta found himself unable to wind down.

He picked up the sound of Bulma's feet against the tile floor and moved himself up so he was lazily treading water. The Saiyan watched as she descended the steps into the shallow end of the pool, a small smile spreading his lips.

"Haven't seen much of you the last few days," he swam into the shallow end and resumed floating on his back, "have you been holed away in your laboratory, or perhaps your workshop?"

"A bit of both," Bulma gave Vegeta a weary smile, "but I know very well _you've_ alsobeen holed up in your gravity chamber for hours and hours at a stretch! Good to see you coming to your senses and getting out of there before you started sleeping in there too!"

"I might start sleeping in there if I can't get some fucking sleep in my bedroom," Vegeta's words began as a snarl and faded into a weary sigh, "all the training of a lifetime won't mean anything if I can't keep my damn eyes open when the games begin..."

"There's not much more you can do at this point, Vegeta. You should just focus on getting some sleep over the next few days..."

"Fucking easier said than done. I lay back on my bed and it's like I'm in a room full of disembodied voices."

Bulma gave a sympathetic hum and moved into the deep end of the pool, floating on her back and releasing a sigh. "You can sleep with me tonight, if you want. Trunks has been sleeping through the night the last little while, so I'm not likely to be in and out of bed at all hours."

"Fine," Vegeta floated on his back and lazily kicked his aching feet to move through the water, "I'll take you up on that..." he shifted his weight so he was treading water and swam toward Bulma, ran a fingertip down the length of her back and teasingly pulled on the strings of her bikini top, "I'm going to bed."

When Bulma arrived in her bedroom forty minutes after Vegeta had left the pool, she found the Saiyan laying on his stomach, watching the television with his eyes half open and his mouth pressed into a line. When Bulma sat at the edge of the mattress, she could feel heat radiating off Vegeta's skin. He was wearing a pair of black shorts and a blue t-shirt and didn't appear to be sweating or uncomfortable.

"Did you take a hot shower? Like, a really hot shower? Because I can feel heatwaves coming off of you."

"Oh. I'll move over," Vegeta shifted over to give Bulma some room and kept watching the screen, "never figured a human would be so sensitive to a Saiyan's naturally high body temperature."

"Vegeta, how many times have we had skin-on-skin contact? And how many times have I complained about your body heat? That number is zero, in case you forgot!"

"That's not true. Don't you remember that time you spent the night in my bedroom and kept complaining it was too hot under the covers?"

"That's because you're the weirdo who keeps both the window open _and_ runs an electric fan in the middle of winter and just sleeps underneath a couple extra blankets!"

"Hey, what's so weird about wanting some air circulation in the bedroom?"

Bulma cracked up laughing and removed her housecoat, tossing it into her laundry basket. "Vegeta, if I started to detail all of your weirdness, we would be up all night!"

"Very funny." Vegeta changed the channel, his eyes narrowed and he snarled when the screen switched to an interview with that hideous bearded man he had seen nearly every time he had passed a television within the last week.

"Who is this ugly bastard I keep seeing on the television?"

"That's Hercule Satan, Vegeta! He's a world-famous wrestler, you know! The guy has managed to build a huge empire."

"Fuck him," Vegeta rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, "fuck him twice. Drawing so much unneeded attention to this _upcoming event._ "

"Vegeta! That is so vulgar! And why do you feel so warm?"

"I already told you that I don't know! Do you want me to leave or not? Just say so, and I'll get out of your damn room. I'll go sleep in the gravity chamber."

Bulma heaved a sigh and began massaging the Saiyan's neck, finding it tense and clammy. "Vegeta... no, I don't want you to leave. I just want you to tell me what you're feeling, please..."

"Ooh," Vegeta leaned into the touch, "keep doing that."

"Geez, Vegeta, you're so tense! I can feel a knots in your muscles!"

The Saiyan gave an annoyed huff and rolled his shoulders. "Don't stop what you're doing."

Bulma did stop very briefly to fetch a bottle of oil from her bedside stand and assist the Saiyan in pulling off his t-shirt, and once she had slicked Vegeta's back with lavender-scented oil she spent almost forty five minutes massaging his back, shoulders and arms. When she finally stopped, she heard tiny snores coming from the exhausted Saiyan.

With patient encouragement and gentle handling, Bulma managed to turn Vegeta around so his head rested on a pillow and he was covered by both a sheet and duvet. The Saiyan cooperated and seemed to process her command, giving one or two tiny grunts when Bulma spoke, but he did not reply or ask any questions.

Once Bulma settled down and turned off the lamp, her breathing began to slow and she felt her body relaxing. She never expected Vegeta to turn onto his side and lean close into her, draping one arm over her waist and burying his nose in the space between her neck and collarbone.

Not once during their times together had Vegeta ever _done that_ , and Bulma wasn't so sure what to make of it. Normally Vegeta slept on his back, arms draped over his belly. Whatever vibration he was giving off seemed to warm her from the inside, and it was pulling her into a deep comfortable sleep.

She closed her eyes and quickly fell into the same unconscious space.

* * *

_Vegeta was so excited to return to his home planet that he programmed his pod to bring him out of stasis fifteen minutes before landing, just so he could contact his family's residence within the royal palace and confirm his father was aware of his imminent return._

_Not only was his father home and prepared to his arrival, but his infant brother was finally home from the nursery he'd been sent to immediately after his mother had given birth. Vegeta didn't know much about his mother; she was rarely at the royal palace and when she was, she only spent one hour per day with her son, rarely speaking but always ready to begin sparring. She was neither kind nor gentle, and Vegeta admired that about her._

" _Father! Father!" Vegeta's tiny footsteps filled the great hall, "I have returned from another successful mission! I want to see my brother, right now!"_

_King Vegeta came striding into the great hall, a tiny bundle wrapped in a white blanket tucked in his massive arms and his regal face relaxed into an unusually gentle smile. "Welcome home, Vegeta. I have already heard of your great success working alongside Nappa and that talented boy they call Raditz."_

" _Of course I have succeeded, father, Nappa is a competent commander and Raditz shows great promise and already has the power to get through fortified barriers," Vegeta jumped up to catch a glimpse of the face within the bundle of blankets, "now let me see him! Let me see my brother!"_

" _Come, Vegeta," the king extended one huge hand for his son to hold on to as they walked through the hall and into a private chamber._

_The young prince couldn't conceal his huge grin when King Vegeta guided the tiny baby into Vegeta's waiting arms, who was quick to cradle the baby against his chest and study his face. The baby was asleep and Vegeta scarcely breathed, determined not to make a sound so he could watch his little brother in silence._

" _He's so little..." Vegeta finally spoke, voice barely a whisper and his eyes wide with amazement._

" _Too little," King Vegeta scoffed, "he'll never be of any use to Frieza's forces. A weakling. Consider this meeting with him a final goodbye- we'd be better off to send him into deep space to complete an exploratory mission on a temperate planet when he matures physically."_

_Vegeta glared up at his father and protectively hunched over the infant. "No! He is my brother and I have waited long enough for a sibling, so he will remain here, at the palace, with me! And when I am not here, he shall be given the best of care as I direct it! If Raditz' pathetic little brother can be cared for on Vegeta, then my brother shall be kept here as well!"_

" _You seem very determined to see this through, my son. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"_

_Vegeta stared his father directly in the eyes and drew the infant closer toward him if that was even possible. "I am very much certain, father. He is my brother, and I'm not about to abandon him!"_

_The tiny baby yawned and stirred in Vegeta's arms. The young warrior felt a smile creeping across his face and a tiny spark of warmth growing inside his chest._

* * *

What finally woke Vegeta the following day at one thirty in the afternoon was a persistent and familiar meowing. Scratch patted the Saiyan's shoulder with a front paw and meowed again when Vegeta grumbled.

"You again," he sat up and rubbed his eyes, "what do you want?"

" _Meeeeowwww-rowwwr-rowwwwrrr,_ " Scratch jumped to the end of the bed and began licking a paw.

"Fine," Vegeta got out of bed, still slightly confused as to why he'd woken up in Bulma's bedroom, "I'm getting up. Damn cat..." all he could remember from the previous night was swimming in the pool and receiving a truly relaxing massage on Bulma's bed.

The kitchen was quiet when Vegeta went downstairs. He could smell the remnants of lunch (it smelled like tomatoes and butter) and suspected that anybody capable of preparing a good meal was away from the compound. He looked through the refrigerator for something to eat and eventually took a seat at the table with a bowl and spoon, carton of milk, containers of berries, and a box of cereal.

When he was on his third bowl of corn flakes and blueberries, Trunks came into the kitchen and eyed his father's meal. "Um, good morning?"

"Hello," Vegeta picked a blueberry from his bowl, "where is everybody?"

The boy from the future busied himself, preparing a cup of coffee and stealing occasional glances at his father, still unable to fully accept that the man currently eating cereal really was his flesh and blood.

"Oh, they're out with Tru- um, _me..._ the baby version of me... guess it's time for another round of booster shots and check-ups."

"That kid is getting big. Fuck, it won't be too long before it starts mouthing off!"

The half-Saiyan inhaled sharply but forced himself to stop before he screamed at his father for his callous attitude. There is nothing you can do at this point, Trunks reminded himself, he's going to be the way he is no matter what you do, and he'll needle you into a fight. Get your snack and leave the room...

"On the other hand, it seems as though you've learned to keep your damn mouth shut while in the presence of greatness. There's hope for you after all!" Vegeta broke into a rather harsh and ugly peal of laughter and trilled his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He couldn't wait to show this conceited boy what a full-blooded Saiyan could _really do_ in battle.

Trunks literally bit his tongue and decided waiting for a cup of coffee wasn't worth it. There was a decent cafe three blocks from the compound where he could get a good meal, and his doting grandmother had slipped him a wallet stuffed with cash several days prior. "There's instant coffee waiting for you when the kettle boils. Good luck with resting up and getting it together before things go from bad to worse."

Over a hot and very sweet cup of coffee and a fourth bowl of cereal, Vegeta allowed himself to recognize that all he could do now was rest and recover before the fight of his life. There was only so much training he could commit to now, not to mention he still had a severe sleep deficit to make up for with just hours remaining before the Cell Games would begin, and with no ship at his disposal, taking off into space simply wasn't an option.

* * *

_Hair dripping and cape heavy and wet after being caught in a downpour, Vegeta was grateful to step into the warm apartment he shared with his two comrades. He picked up the steady bump of high energy dance music- it had become a constant within the last few months and Vegeta had actually learned to tune it out for the most part, although it seemed louder than usual today._

_Nappa was seated in a large chair in the main room, scrolling through his tablet and obviously not interested in the stream of propaganda currently playing on the television._

_"Any news, Nappa?" Vegeta pulled his cape off and strode into the main room, making eye contact with the elder Saiyan who seemed absorbed by whatever he was reading._

_"We have a new mission and take off in ninety-six hours. Routine purge. Small planet with a weak native population that is unfortunately very heavily armed. Shouldn't take more than a week or two if you and Raditz do your shifts together. You two make a good team..."_

_Vegeta grumbled. Raditz was strong and intelligent, but over the past few months his behaviour had become erratic, and during their time off he had taken a schedule of partying all night and sleeping most of the day, things Vegeta did not approve of whatsoever. Their age difference was becoming an issue as well; the seventeen year old Raditz had grown into a tall, lanky young man, very excitable and expressive, aggressive, prone to distraction and not entirely aware of his own strength, while the almost twelve year old Vegeta had already committed himself to a lifestyle of daily training, rigid emotional control, and clean living._

_"Well, the pay is pretty good. Looks like you're set to make forty large for this."_

_"Ugh!" Vegeta scoffed and switched the kettle on so he could indulge in a cup of a warming herbal tisane a respected herbalist had prepared specifically for him. "That's it?! Forty thousand? Fucking cheapskate Frieza. How long is the commute to our target?"_

_"Twenty eight hours."_

_"Whatever," Vegeta watched the kettle lit up and then switched itself off as the water came to a rolling boil, "I guess that's fine for a short mission. Nappa, I swear, I'm going to be demanding another raise soon."_

_The Saiyan filled a thick clear vessel with two large pinches of the herbal concoction and plenty of hot water, and almost instantly the water turned a deep shade of orange. The smell of warm spices and burnt sugar filled the air, and Vegeta felt himself already warming up from the inside-out._

_"Be careful, prince," Nappa looked up from his tablet and smoothed back his thinning mohawk, "you got a raise just eight months ago. I would wait, if I were you."_

_Vegeta shrugged and took his tisane with him into his small bedroom. Barely three sips into his drink, the thumping of music from Raditz' room was so aggressively loud that he felt the need to investigate._

_When Raditz did not respond to knocks at his door, Vegeta simply entered and found the older Saiyan staggering across the floor, right arm outstretched in an attempt to retain a sense of balance and his left hand clenching a small bundle. Raditz fell back onto his bed and burst into peals of laughter when he recognized Vegeta in the doorway. "Oh, shit! Look who's back! How's it going?"_

_"You are obviously very fucked up," Vegeta sneered, "you are completely pathetic! Blaring this terrible music and getting high in your bedroom. We have work in about ninety hours, so consider this your notice to get your head on straight."_

_"Yeah, yeah, I'm so bad and you're so good. We've been through this, Vegeta, and you know that I always get it together for work, so get off my ass and let me party! Besides, I'm going out tonight, so if you've come to bitch about the noise, it will be off in an hour or two. I promise."_

_"Oh, so this is just your little pre-celebration ritual? And to think I once admired your strength!"_

_Raditz dipped his little finger into a small bag of powder and sucked on it. "Yeah! Now get out of here before I beat your ass, you little freak!"_

_Screaming with his lips pressed together, Vegeta stormed back into his bedroom to drink his tea in private. He just hoped there would be something on entertaining on the television so he wouldn't have to keep listening to that terrible coming through the wall._


End file.
